Upwards Descent
by L'alouette.blanche
Summary: "I never realized what I didn't have until I found you." A story of Antonio and Lovina, from the beginning. Where they came from, how they got where they are. Historical basis. Appearances from Rome to France to Germania, and the list will grow. T for Lovina's mouth and some violence.
1. Frozen

**Author's Note:** Well, here's another SpainXFemRomano story. I guess you can tell what my OTP is. This time, I'm following them from the beginning, and seeing how they got where they are. This first chapter is only rated K, but the ratings will change as they grow up. It starts out when Lovina is about nine, and Antonio is maybe twelve. But human age is tough to gauge with a country, don't you think? Anyways, I would love your feedback.

**Upwards Descent**

"I never realized what I didn't have until I found you."

1. Frozen

"Please, Nonno." The little girl caught the edge of his red cape in a small hand as he turned. "I want to come too." He turned back around, patting her hair affectionately. Only the fly-away curl on the top of her head peaked through his fingers.

"No, piccino mio. You have to stay at the villa," he explained as she stared up at him, wide olive eyes filled with disappointment. Another little voice spoke up from behind his shoulder.

"Can I stay home too, Nonno? There're scary things in the woods with big teeth and scaly hands that eat little bambini. Francis told me so." The little girl crossed her arms over her chest, mouth set in a sideways frown, and turned to her brother.

"There's nothing in the woods, you idiot. Don't believe anything Francis says." The little boy looked up at him questioningly, obviously unconvinced. Rome grabbed him gently around the waist and balanced him against his hip with one arm.

"Of course there aren't monsters in the woods, Feliciano. And one day all of this will be yours. You need to learn about the land you will rule."

"Then why can't I go too? I don't want to just sit here all alone." Rome sighed, running his unoccupied hand through his dark curls.

"You have to stay here, Lovina. There may not be monsters in the woods, but there are still things a little girl wouldn't want to run into." In his arms, Feliciano gave a little squeak and clutched tighter at his collar.

"I have this. I'll be fine." Lovina reached into the folds of her tunic and pulled out a little hunting knife which she brandished in front of her in a fist.

"Just the other day, I ran into some barbarians up in the northern woods. And remember when those Carthaginians came riding down out of the mountains on their great big elephants?" Lovina lowered the knife to her side.

"You killed them, Nonno. They weren't scary. And all of the elephants died. I didn't even get to see one. And then after they were all gone, you sacked _their_ home. You salted the earth." He frowned down at the little girl, who was staring down at her bare toes.

"They were coming to hurt us. I did what I had to; you'll understand that someday. Now, you're staying home, and that's final. It's too dangerous out there for you." He made to turn around.

"But it's not too dangerous for Feliciano? He trips over his own feet. Nonno please, I don't want to be left all alone."

"I said you're staying home and that's final. Feliciano will be a man someday, and he needs to know how to protect what's his." Feliciano didn't seem to know what to think about that proposal, and just sat clutching Rome's tunic with one hand and worrying at his own little curl with the other. "Now, we'll be back by nightfall. Please try not to get into trouble while we're gone." He turned on his heel and marched out of the room. Feliciano stared at her over his shoulder, eyebrows lost in his messy bangs in a look of concern.

"Are you sure the monsters aren't real, Nonno?" she heard him squeak as they rounded the corner.

* * *

><p>Lovina threw the knife onto a table and dropped into a chair with a sigh. Wind stirred the heavy curtains at the windows, whistling through the empty corridors.<p>

"Alone again," she sighed. She was always alone, with Rome off with his new territories and Feliciano traipsing about the city. Everyone loved Feliciano, with his easy laugh and his ridiculous ability to trust. It didn't matter that all he ever did was eat, and sleep, and mess up whatever she was trying to do. It didn't help that all she was allowed to do was sit at home and tidy things up, which she did constantly since anything was better than staring at the wall for hours. And whenever Rome was home, he would be out in the forest, chasing down wild boar and deer. She would sit at the window and watch the horses race for the tree-lined hills, capes of the soldiers fluttering out like wings behind them. How many times had she pretended she was there, racing down the skyline on a mare as bright as sunlight? But all she had was her slow little pony and a stubborn old workhorse they used to carry supplies back from town.

Outside, a pair of doves flitted past the window, headed for the shade of the forest. She pulled herself onto the sill, bare toes gripping the rough stone blocks. Her tunic whipped about her legs as she reached her fingers out to touch each edge of the window.

"Someday," she whispered. The wind played with the hem of her clothes like fingers urging her forwards. Above her the doves circled, momentarily joining with the bright sun, before diving back towards the earth. It was another warm summer day, the sun melting lazily over fields and seeping between the deep green leaves. The grass danced like the sea.

"It just isn't fair," she preached to the open sky. "Feliciano doesn't care. Horses scare him, and he jumps at every shadow. Why am I not good enough?" Nothing seemed to have an answer, so she swung down off of the sill and padded over to the table where she'd thrown down her knife. "It'll be hours before they come home. They'll never even know I was gone." She looked back out the window one more time, catching a final glimpse of white wings against blue sky, and headed towards the stables.

After a few minutes, a tall step-ladder, and a handful of oats, Lovina managed to coax a saddle onto the ornery old carthorse. It then proceeded to stand firmly in place while she kicked its flank and added encouraging words, mostly learned from Rome's colorful conversations. She flicked the reins hopefully, and was just about to start walking for the forest when she saw a riding crop hanging from a peg against the wall. She leaned forward, grabbed it in a little fist, and whispered into a huge ear, "Sorry about this but I need to get out of here." With the last word, she beat down hard on the horse's flank and they shot forward into the hills.

With a light flick of the reins, they turned round for the line of trees, leaving the villa behind. Lovina threw the crop down, twining her fingers in the horse's thick mane. She wrapped her legs tighter about its broad chest and leaned forwards in the saddle. Her bare toes curled around the stirrups. The wind was all around her now, whipping her hair in an auburn halo about her face. Her tunic streamed behind her.

"Who has wings now?" She screamed to the sky. She let out a startled laugh, which was greedily gobbled up by the wind, too heavy to race her. "Fly," she commanded, throwing her arms out to each side, head back. "Fly."

* * *

><p>The sun was almost overhead by the time they reached the scraggly beginnings of the forest. They slowed to a walk as they passed through the trees, Lovina pushing boughs away from her head. It was cooler under the branches, the breeze raising goose prickles on her forearms. Birds twittered above their heads, chasing each other through the branches. Lovina started as a huge buck leaped past them.<p>

"Run. Go away from here before Rome finds you. Run," she called out, waving her hands at him. He just stood there, stock still, huge black eyes trying to understand what she was. "Please, run away. You're too beautiful to die." She ripped a stick off of a nearby tree and hurled it at his head. He started back on his hind legs and bounded through the trees, the waving ferns the only sign that he'd ever been there.

She heard another crackling of leaves, and thought there must be a whole herd, but the sound was followed by a low rumbling growl. The mare snorted warily, pawing the ground with huge hooves. Lovina looked to either side, trying to find the sound.

The bushes rustled again, followed by a low whining snarl. Lovina tried to turn the reins left and right, kicking the mare in the flanks to get it to move somewhere, but the horse just turned its head back and forth, dark eyes rimmed in white, mouth dotted with froth. Huge hooves stamped at the ground, as the horse turned circles, nostrils flaring.

"Come on," Lovina screamed, trying to turn the horse towards home. But with all the spinning, and the dark cover of the trees, she couldn't tell which direction she'd come from.

Suddenly, the underbrush exploded in a flurry of leaves. A huge grey wolf lunged towards them, pink lather dripping from open jaws. The mare furiously beat at the ground, trying to stamp out the biting jaws and grasping claws. The wolf hunched low to the ground, hackles raised, and hurled itself forwards again. Lovina screamed and tried to grab for her knife, dropping the reins in her terror. She caught a glimpse of yellow eyes and dripping yellow fangs before she stamped down hard on the huge head. The horse kicked out at the beast with massive hooves, leaning back on his hind legs. Lovina grasped for reins or saddle or even a handful of mane, but she was already falling.

* * *

><p>When she opened her eyes, she was still in the forest. The horse was gone, but the wolf was too, leaving behind only hoof prints in the dead leaves. She stood shakily to her feet and tried to reorient herself. The light was sliding in at a different angle, but she couldn't remember if that meant she had to walk towards it or away. She breathed heavily and waited for her head to stop ringing. She wiped dirt from her face with the back of a hand and turned around. If she kept walking she was bound to find someone. She would find a river and follow it. All rivers led to people eventually, and any people she found would bring her home.<p>

"I am a child of Rome," she whispered to herself, a hand on the hilt of her knife. "And Rome is never afraid." She headed deeper into the forest.

* * *

><p>"It's all right, Piccolino," Rome sighed as Feliciano sniffled into his shoulder. "We're going home now." They had just reached one of the larger clearings where deer often grazed, only an hour or so into the forest, before Feliciano had fallen off of his horse. It was nothing serious, just a twisted ankle, but the boy was still shaken. He'd never really gotten used to horses, and he always felt guilty about using the reins.<p>

"It hurts them Nonno," he'd complained one day, holding a stiff riding crop in one hand like it was a nest of hornets. The boy could be so insensible about things like that, but there was no yelling at him when he flashed his smile or when his eyes were full of tears. He gave the little boy a squeeze and felt small hands wrap around his neck. Feliciano rubbed at his eyes with the back of a hand and played absentmindedly with the little curl at the nape of Rome's neck like he often did when upset. Well, the hunt had been a waste, but some things were more important.

It was only mid-afternoon by the time the party returned home. Rome set Feliciano carefully on the ground and rode his stallion into the stables, where he first noticed something was amiss. The corner stall, which had held their old carthorse, was now quite empty, the door bumping back and forth with the breeze. Rome bridled his stallion and walked out into the yard, hoping to ask one of the servants who had taken the old mare into the market. But instead he was confronted by one of his soldiers.

"Caesar, we found this outside in the grass. Is it your crop?" Rome snatched it out of his hand and stormed to the courtyard, where Feliciano was perched on the edge of a fountain examining his swollen ankle.

"Feliciano, where is your sister?" Feliciano looked up at him with wide brown eyes, his mouth open as he thought.

"I don't know Nonno. I haven't seen her since we got back."

"Lovina," Rome called to the empty house, to the darkening sky. He rushed into the house, calling in each vacant room. Inside, nothing moved except the curtains at the windows. He stormed back out of the door, throwing the crop to the ground and headed back for the stables. He vaulted back onto his stallion, wheeling him into the courtyard.

"What's wrong, Nonno?" Feliciano called, leaning forward and dangling his legs in front of him.

"Your sister's gone." He turned the stallion about the courtyard, hooves clattering on paving stoes, calling out to the guards, "Guards, to me. We have to send out a search party." He galloped off towards the woods before anyone could follow.

* * *

><p>It was getting darker, the beams of light shining through the branches beginning to dim, and Lovina was regretting not having put on sandals. Her feet were dark with mud, and lined in thin cuts from branches and rocks. The forest seemed closer around her now, like the trees were reaching out skeletal fingers towards her. So far she hadn't caught sight of a river, or even heard the distant sound of water. She still had her knife, but after thoughts of those gaping jaws, it didn't seem to be much of a comfort.<p>

She paused to brush off the dead leaves which were sticking to her muddy feet. Behind her she heard another sound. She gasped, then froze, listening. The first sound was followed by another rustle. She turned around, hoping to the gods to see a rabbit, or a deer, or anything but those yellow eyes. She heard a twig sap and shot around. There was more crackling of dry leaves, coming from two directions now. She started to run.

Lovina darted between trees, frantically running from any sound. Above her an owl hooted and she cried out, barely missing the tree in front of her. Branches clawed at her hair and clothes, but she twisted away from them, leaving behind red lines on her skin. She tripped over a rock, skinning her palms, but kept on running, fleeing the rustling leaves behind her. Above her crows moved between the branches, cackling down at her as she ran. She couldn't think anymore. She didn't care what direction she was going in, and when she splashed through a stream, feet skidding over slimy rocks, she didn't think to follow it. All she could hear now was the pounding blood in her ears and her own mouth gasping for breath. The blotches of light around her illuminated nothing and blurred into a kaleidoscope of green as tears ran down her cheeks. She closed her eyes to keep the world from spinning. Her head was aching now, pounding in time to the beat of her feet on the ground.

She ran until she hit something, smacking off of a thick tree trunk. Her fingers wrapped around the gnarled bark and she gasped for breath, staring through blurry eyes at the forest around her. The sunlight shone through in patches, succeeding only in throwing everything else into shadows. She blinked and waited for her heart to stop pounding. She couldn't hear any movement in the forest, but somehow that made her feel worse. At least before, she could tell in what direction it was moving. Suddenly there was a noise to her left, different than the earlier rustling.

For some reason she found herself moving towards it. What was the point in running anyways? She couldn't just keep running blindly, or she'd never find her way out. She wiped the tears away with the back of her hands and balled them into fists at her side. A sudden breeze spurred her on, till she was tripping forwards over her bruised and bloody feet. At first she couldn't see anything, just more trees with skirts of deep green ferns. But then she stopped, her breath caught in her throat.

There was a form huddled against a tall trunk, sides rising and falling gently. At first she thought it was another wolf, but the shape was all wrong. Lovina stepped forwards slowly; heel then toes, edging over the moss towards the figure. It looked human: no claws, no fangs, not covered in fur (just a dirty mop of brown hair obscuring its face). Altogether, not anything like the monsters Francis had spoken of. In fact, it looked just like a boy.

He, it had to be a he, moved in his sleep, pushing the thick hair out of his face with a quiet sigh. Lovina halted again. He was darker than she was, probably from days in the sun, and a few years older, but decidedly human. He was just like her, just a child alone in the forest. She looked around, expecting an entourage to melt out of the shadows, but she just heard the quiet twitter of birds. For some reason, she was frozen, stuck in place, watching. She wanted to go over, to shake him awake, to touch his skin and see if he was really there. But she couldn't wake him. She knew she should run, seeing him curled up among the ferns. She knew she should turn around and never let him see her. She knew Rome would be coming, and she knew what he did to smaller countries.

But, before she could turn to go, he groaned in his sleep and opened his eyes. She was met by a shocking green under the fringe of deep brown bangs. He didn't look afraid, more intrigued, squinting at her through the murky light. She knew she could still run leave him there. No one would ever find him. He would never even realize. It would be like she had just been a dream. But something kept her there, like a deer hearing the crack of a twig in the distance. Her fingers fumbled for the knife at her side. He stared back at her with his bright green eyes as she raised the knife, putting it between the two of them. A smile spread across his face. He raised a hand, not out of fear, almost as if he was asking her to just put it down, like it would all be all right. She scowled, edging closer until the knife was almost against his forehead. He was still smiling, so close to her that she could feel the brush of his breath against her skin. He lifted his hand farther outwards till his fingers brushed her cheek. The touch raised goose prickles on her skin.

"You are real," he whispered.

But he pulled his hand away suddenly as the sound of hooves thundered through the underbrush. Four mounted Legionaries burst through the bushes, horse hooves stomping down the delicate bed of ferns.

"We've finally found you," one of them called out as the others circled around them, pulling out swords. He held out his hand to pull her up. "Come now, it's getting dark." Lovina spun around watching the other Legionaries draw closer, swords flashing in the light of dusk.

"Get away from her you barbarian," they spat out, horse hooves barely missing the boy as they pranced round him. He jumped hurriedly to his feet and backed against the tree, eyes wide. The Legionary still had his hand outstretched to her, but Lovina turned around, stepping in between the boy and the circling horses. She raised her knife.

"Don't touch him," she called out. Her voice sounded pitifully small, even to her own ears. She hadn't realized how dry her throat had been. Another horse cantered into the clearing, a white stallion. Rome stared down at them, his brows knit tightly together.

"Guards seize him." He pulled his horse to a stop with a tug on the reins.

"No." Lovina cried out, surprised by herself. "No. Stay where you are." She looked over her shoulder at the boy. He didn't seem afraid, just confused, bright eyes focused only on her.

"Look what he did to you, Lovina. Anyone who hurts one of my children deserves to die. He's just a barbarian." The soldiers moved towards him. She waved her knife in a wide arc, but one of the Legionaries hopped off of his horse and pushed her gently aside. He grabbed the boy roughly by the frayed edge of his tunic and shoved him to his knees. He looked up at her, eyes lost in his long hair.

"Wait. Wait, Nonno. Don't hurt him. He's the one who saved me." They all turned to look at her. "From the wolves," she added, quieter. "I was riding through the woods and a wolf jumped out at us, and I fell off the horse, and… he saved me."

"Is that true?" Rome asked, with a hand still on his sword hilt. The boy opened his mouth to speak, but she shot him a glance. One of the soldiers spoke up.

"We did find the horse in the woods, sir, with claw marks along its legs. We tried to catch it but it ran off towards the villa, and we heard noises further on." Rome looked down at her again, and she wiped at the dirt on her clothes, suddenly self-conscious

"Fine, we'll bring him back to the villa and decide what to do with him there. Lovina, put that silly thing away." One of the Legionaries grabbed the boy and thrust his hands behind his back, wrapping them with a leather strap off of his sword belt, and threw him up over the horse's back. The boy didn't say a word; he just stared at Lovina, head cocked to the side. Suddenly Lovina felt exhausted. Even the knife in her hand was too heavy for her. Her fingers fumbled as she tried to return it to the sheath at her hip. She felt a large hand grab her around the waist and didn't even protest as Rome placed her in front of him on the horse. She buried her fingers in its grey mane.

"We will talk about this later, Lovina," he whispered down to her, eyes hard. But then they melted and he pressed her head to his shoulder. "I'm just glad we found you." She couldn't answer. She just sat there, peaking over Rome's shoulder; watching the boy watch her through a fringe of dark hair, the gait of the horse under her slowly rocking her to sleep.


	2. Stagnant

**Author's Note/historical background:** Sorry it took so long to upload chapter two. Three should be coming out shortly. I'd love some feedback, especially critique, or even historical moments you'd like to see. I know where this is all going, but suggestions are always welcome. I'm trying to stay with the history here (What better plot is there than the truth, eh?), so here is a quick rundown of Spanish history in the Roman Empire, at least for this section. Most of you won't read it, and it doesn't really matter, but I thought I'd share. Spain was a colony of Carthage, and Rome took it over in the second century BC after Carthage's defeat (we've already seen that), but it took a few more centuries to take control of the whole Iberian Peninsula. Italy had of course been part of the Roman Empire far before that, and France, or Gaul, was also taken over in the second century BC (they're both depicted as servants in the household). I'll try to add in the historical context with the next following chapters. Again, Lovina is about 9 and Antonio is about 12.

2. Stagnant

Lovina hauled the bucket of water onto the edge of the well, succeeding in sloshing only a quarter over the side and onto her white linen tunic, better than last time. She was already soaking wet. She blew a curl out of her face and plopped the bucket down with a grunt. What a stupid punishment, she thought. As if she didn't already clean most of the house. Francis, one of the servant-territories, was supposed to be there for that, but he was always around town chasing after some girl. Lovina paused to adjust the bandages wrapped around her skinned palms. They were more nuisance than help, and every time she looked at her hands she was reminded of that night.

Behind her, stones crunched under feet. She whirled around, to almost smack into someone's face as she tripped over the bucket on the ground. A hand grabbed her wrist and kept her from toppling over. She looked up and was met with inquisitive green eyes. It was that boy she realized, from the woods. They had taken away his old green tunic, replacing it with the rougher brown tunic of a servant, and his long hair had been chopped off in messy chunks. But it was him all the same.

"Sorry to startle you, Lovi." He smiled, his eyes crinkling up under his bangs, and ran a hand through his hair.

"Don't call me that," she huffed, pulling her arm gruffly out of his grasp, and turned around to grab her buckets. She wondered where he'd learned her name. He leaned over to look at her face.

"Do you need help with those? They look kind of heavy."

"I'm fine. I don't need any help." He looked skeptically down at her dripping tunic and brushed past her to grab a bucket in each hand. She thought about wresting the buckets away from him, but decided it wasn't worth the trouble. She scowled, grabbing the last bucket in two hands, and headed off towards the courtyard without looking back. He caught up quickly, his stride much longer than hers, and peered down at her with a lopsided smile. She was tempted to wipe it off with a dose of water to the face, followed by the bucket. But she just stared down at the paving stones. "What do you want anyways?" He cocked his head to the side to look down at her, sending his hair into his eyes.

"Why did you save me?" He chewed at his lower lip and waited for her to answer. The bucket bounced against her legs but she didn't notice the water sloshing over the side.

"I don't know." She shrugged and sent another wave over the edge of the bucket. "Damn," she whispered and set the bucket down with a huff. The boy started to laugh.

"You've got a mouth on you, don't you?" Lovina glared up at him, wringing out the edge of her tunic. "But really, why?"

"I couldn't just let him kill you. It was my fault they found you in the first place. You wouldn't be stuck here if it wasn't for me. I should have just run away when I saw you."

"Why didn't you?" She stopped her wringing for a moment and looked up at him, flicking her flyaway curl out of her eyes.

"I don't know. I was just frozen there, stuck. Suddenly I just couldn't move. I wasn't afraid, I just… I don't know." She seemed surprised, confused, her eyebrows knitting together. She picked up the bucket and was about to slosh it across the flagstones.

"Well, thank you, Lovi. You did save me, even if you got me into the trouble in the first place. I'm Antonio, by the way." He laughed again, rubbing at his neck. "I probably should have said that earlier. Now let's get started. This place is a mess."

"I thought I made it perfectly clear that I don't need your damn help." He shrugged. This one was going to be difficult, she could tell.

"What you need and what you could use are two different things. That, and I think I owe you this much at least." He picked up a scrub brush lying on the ground and turned around before she could protest. She turned her next retort into a heavy sigh and sloshed the rest of the water onto the grimy paving stones. "God, it must've been years since this was cleaned," Antonio grumbled behind her as he scrubbed the muddy flagstones.

"I don't know," Lovina shrugged over her shoulder. "It's been like this since I remember. No one ever uses this courtyard." She knelt down, taking out her frustration on the groutwork. She couldn't remember this courtyard ever being used for anything. It was tucked away in the corner of the villa, on the side farthest away from the vineyards, so there was never much traffic. She had actually had to shimmy across the roof to open the old gate from the inside, since the lock had rusted shut, and had propped the gate open with a broom handle while she drew the bucket of water. Old vines scrawled up the walls, crinkled and dead now, though they may have once been roses. They grasped at the old walls, pulling away chunks of crumbling stone.

She scrubbed furiously, trying not to notice the boy working behind her. _Maybe if I don't speak he'll get bored and go away, it usually works with Francis_. _He's not much like Francis though. Francis would never offer to help. But that's better anyways, it means I don't have to go along behind him and fix everything. _She had scrubbed away the thickest chunks of dried muck, and could barely see the stones beneath. They certainly weren't plain cobblestones though. She brushed at them with her fingertips, trying to make out the design underneath.

"Hey, Antonio," she called over her shoulder. "You need to come see this." He leaned down over her peering at the small section of stone that she had uncovered.

"Is that an eye?" he asked, trying to brush hair out of his eyes. He only smeared mud across his forehead.

"Well, Hell if I know, but it definitely isn't just paving stones." She leaned back on her heels, resting her hands in her lap. "It's a mosaic of some sort, but I can't really tell." She picked up her scrub brush again, and was just about to resume her furious cleaning when they heard a stifled cry from the other side of the house. "God Damn it, Feli," Lovina called out as she threw down her brush and rushed over to find him. Antonio followed, peering over his shoulder at the grimy courtyard, and carefully closed the gate behind him.

* * *

><p>By the time they had cleaned up the broken amphora and stopped Feliciano's fervent whimpering, it was turning well past midday. Antonio was sent off to care for the horses, and Lovina was left to collect the buckets from the courtyard. But once she rounded the corner of the building, she saw that the gate was firmly locked again, with a new lock. The buckets were stacked back in the stable when she entered, after a quiet dinner, and Antonio was just brushing out the coat of one of the legionaries' bays. She stood in the shadows of the door watching him. He still had a streak of mud across his cheek, drying and crackling now. He hummed to himself as he ran the brush through the thick mane. He walked around to the other side of its broad back and Lovina moved through the shadows to keep the horse between them.<p>

_This is stupid, _she thought to herself. _Why am I here_? But, she couldn't bring herself to speak out or leave. He patted the horse lightly on the nose and moved over to the last stall, where her father's palfrey paced back and forth. It flared its nostrils as he vaulted carefully over the gate, huge hooves gouging the packed dirt floor. Lovina hurriedly scrambled up the ladder to the second level, where they stored the hay, to keep from being seen. Down in the stall, Antonio leaned forward to brush out the horse's tangled forelocks. The creature snorted worriedly, pawing at the ground, and tried to shake its head away. He reached a hand up and it raked at the air in front of him with heavy hooves.

_Idiot, no one can come close to that horse except Nonno. It'll bite off your stupid nose. _She peeked over the edge of the wood floor to watch. _This is payback for calling me Lovi. _He walked forward slowly, both hands in front of him, as the horse snorted furiously. It tried to back away, but hit the end of the stall and whinnied in a panic. He held a hand up to its face, brushed his fingers against the coarse hair. Finally, he pressed his forehead against the light blaze between the horse's eyes, dark hair mingling with the grey, and whispered into those huge ears. The horse tried to shake its head once, snorted angrily, brushing back his hair with a hot gust of air, and then settled calmly into his grasp. Lovina watched, stunned, as he carefully reached up, brushing out the knotted mass of hair, never breaking eye contact.

"There you go," he whispered as he ran a hand along the huge nose. "No one's going to hurt you." Lovina leaned forwards, unbelieving. Suddenly, her feet were only touching air. She gave a little cry and was falling towards the stable floor grasping for something to hold onto, but only grabbing at handfuls of hay.

She landed on something soft, taking all of the wind out of her. It gave a muffled grunt and tried to sit up, unbalancing her so she grabbed out to steady herself.

"You have a habit of falling, don't you?" Antonio smiled up at her from the floor, rubbing the back of his head. "It's good I caught you or you could have broken something." Lovina drew back her arms as if she'd been burned, folded them across her chest, and glared at him, feeling her cheeks redden.

"You didn't catch me, I just happened to land here. Now unhand me, bastard," she added under her breath. She stared down at him haughtily where he lay sprawled on the dirt floor. She was just trying to pull herself up to a standing position when she felt a hot puff of air down the back of her neck. She turned around and gasped as a huge horse mouth came down on her head, soft lips pulling out the strands of hay stuck in her hair. She tripped backwards again and landed, with an "oof," back in Antonio's lap. The horse stared down at her, chewing happily. Antonio burst out laughing as she scowled down at him, trying to untangle herself from his legs.

"Whoa, careful there." Antonio picked her up before she could protest and set her safely on the stall gate. When he had brushed himself off and tethered the horse to the other end of the stall, he walked back over to where she was sitting. "What were you doing up in the roof anyways, Lovi?" She growled at the nickname and turned her face away from him, blushing again.

"I went to put the buckets away and they were already gone." He seemed to disregard the fact that buckets weren't stored on the second floor and continued staring at her. She turned to face him again, olive eyes flaring. "Why did you lock the gate?" Antonio looked at her quizzically.

"I've been working with the horses since I left the courtyard. I haven't been back there. I came in, and the buckets were already stacked. I thought you brought them up."

"Then why was the gate locked?"

"It beats me. But, I would say that someone doesn't want that courtyard cleaned up." He shrugged his shoulders and winced, gingerly rubbing out his bruised muscles.

"Are you all right?" Lovina asked shyly. Antonio beamed up at her.

"Was that concern?" Lovina blew a curl out of her face and growled down at him.

"No, not at all you idiot. It's just that Nonno would be angry if one of his servants couldn't perform their duties."

"Well, I'll take concern in any form. I'm fine by the way," he said with an awkward bow, sweeping the dirt floor with a hand as he bent at the waist. "And I am always at your service, whether it be as a bucket holder or a perch for a land-bound little bird." He flashed an impish smile and she kicked one of her sandals at his face.

"I don't need your help. But, I do need answers. Are you _sure_ you didn't see anyone put those buckets away?" He leaned on the gate, pressing his face close to hers, and held out her dropped sandal.

"What, don't you trust me?" She leaned forward and grabbed her sandal back with a jerk.

"Not at all," she hissed. She stuffed it back on her foot and hopped off of the gate, hoping to storm off in some sort of dignity before she fell over again. For some reason she was doing that more frequently lately. Behind her, Antonio called out as he leaned over the stall.

"What are you going to do about the courtyard?" She swung around in the doorway, hands on her hips.

"I'm going to figure out what's down there. I am a Vargas of course." She turned to go, but shouted back over her shoulder. "And I don't need your damn help." _This one will definitely be trouble, _she thought as she stormed up to the house. _He never knows when to quit._

Behind her, Antonio chewed thoughtfully on a piece of hay. He turned towards the gray palfrey. "That one's going to be a handful isn't she?" The horse snorted and continued chewing. "Yeah, I'm always up for a challenge too." He smiled and settled down into the hay for the night.


	3. The Stone Eye

**Author's Note/Historical Background**: After the conquest of Spain, or Hispania, Spain was an important part of the empire, even supplying a few Roman emperors (So, I think Rome sees a lot of himself in Antonio). Southern Italy was part of the Roman Empire, of course, but during the Gothic Wars of the sixth century, Italy was controlled by the Visigoths (so was Spain) and the Roman Empire (or at least the Eastern Empire) invaded and temporarily recaptured Italy. This is a period of Lovina's resistance to Rome, as all kids feel towards their parents eventually, but I didn't show total separation. So we're all up to date now. This section starts, as it says, a few months later. Sorry for the random change in POV.

3. The Stone Eye

It had been a few months since Lovina stumbled upon that boy in the woods, but Rome still watched her with hawk eyes. She had grumbled about not being allowed off the villa grounds, but her protests had frozen in her throat when she saw the worry in his eyes. There really were things to be afraid of in the woods. The boy had fared well, sleeping in the stables where he worked. But at least he had a warm place to sleep, a constant source of food. That must be better than the woods. Rome still didn't know where he came from in the first place. He hardly spoke, just murmured to the horses, but he occasionally followed Lovina as she did her chores, lounging in the shadows and pretending to be doing something useful. There was something about him that was unsettling. And he had taken far too great an interest in his Nipote. He sat at his desk, hand absently fingering a knife on his table. He watched the blade catch the light in his fingertips, and thought to himself. There was something in that look she'd given him, staring him down with an olive fire, keeping her tiny hunting knife between him, her Nonno, and a child she'd never met.

He thought of those eyes, he'd seen them before. The way wisps of her hair fell into her face, pale framed by a dark halo. He'd seen that look, that shot of fire, so many years before. He thought of Her. That was a mistake. He could feel the pit ripping open in his chest and he ground his teeth together, twirling the knife faster to give him something to focus on. Lovina had always been difficult, but she had always listened to him; she would never point a weapon at him. Where had that come from? Her brother would have run straight to his arms. She had always been more distant, her eyes lingering far to the sky, or down at her own feet. But she had stared him down, leaning protectively over some dirty foreign barbarian. No, the boy wasn't that. But what was he? He hadn't even looked afraid, more confused. And after they had tied him to the reins in front of a Legionary, he had stared at them the whole ride home. And she had peeked over his shoulder, not searching solace in his shoulder like Feliciano often did, but looking back towards the end of the column, to those eyes in the dark.

Who was this boy anyways? There wasn't a scratch on him, so Rome doubted he had actually fought off the wolf like Lovina claimed. But why would she protect him? He was far too feral, far too primal. The air of the woods clung to him even in his new tunic with his shorn hair. He was always lounging, but never relaxed, like some predator, constantly surveying his surroundings. Yet his eyes were far too trusting, a smile always spreading easily across his face. He was either a fool or slyer than Rome had expected. He smiled genially when given orders, and didn't even try to resist when the Legionaries had forced his head onto a table and sawed off his tangled mane. He hadn't even tried to run yet.

Maybe he should just let the boy run, tether him to the reins of some fast horse and give it a kick, send it flying for the hills. But there was something in that boy, a raw energy sparking in those eyes, behind that smile. _I was alone at his age. I was wild just like him. Back then I was nothing, dreaming of everything. _But, no, other things came first. His own children came first. Little Feliciano, with his trusting nature, easily moved to tears, always tripping over his own feet. He's afraid of everything, and what he doesn't fear, he's deeply in love with. He had to make him stronger. He had to make him see. And Lovina, what about Lovina? He gave a sigh. What was there ever to say about Lovina? She was sullen and ornery, prone to cursing and dirty looks. She never knew what to say, didn't know how to smile. But place her in a garden, hands working in the warm earth, and her eyes began to shine. _That's when I really see Her again_.

He thought back to another time, to a fluttering of white linen, the pale curve of a neck, a frown of full lips, a flash of bright olive eyes. He could only take the memories in flashes, lightning seconds of pain and beauty, of trapped bliss. _Even now I'm trapping her, tethering her to my memories. Can't I finally let her free? No_. The answer was sudden, so abrupt it caused him to fumble with the knife and slice open the pad of his thumb. He stared down at the welling drop of red and frowned. He'd thought he'd buried those memories. He'd thought he'd grown big enough to drown them out, something else always on his mind.

But, that look in Lovina's eyes, and now, someone had opened the gate to the back courtyard. He thought he had locked it off, almost wished he'd covered the entrance entirely. But he couldn't bear closing her off to the sunlight again. She was already frozen and trapped under the earth. She belonged in the sky, carried on the wind. He sucked at his thumb, tasting the salt of blood. He pressed his teeth to the cut to feel the dull pain. Physical pain was always easier.

He had pushed the gate roughly open, noticing the buckets spread across the grimy stones. A thick layer of dirt covered the whole courtyard; the vines along the walls were crisp and shriveled, pulling apart the groutwork with their death grip. _It's another tomb_, he'd thought to himself. That's when he'd noticed the cleaned patch, bright against the grime. That's when he saw the eye. Cold stone could never capture her gaze. He'd sunk to the ground, hands running over rough stone, fingers trying to pry up the tiles. Anything to break that gaze. But he'd looked down through shaking hands and his breath calmed. She could always do that to him. The mosaic eye stared up at him, calm and patient. It showed none of her warmth. He'd pressed his hand to the tiles, as if to close her eyes again. _I closed her eyes a final time with my bloody hands. Dark red grime on that perfect face. _He'd gotten shakily to his feet, grabbing the buckets in one hand. His movements were slow, lethargic. _When did I get this old? _He had looked down at her, at that one eye, always watching. _Let her see the sky, don't trap her under the earth. Think of her for once, not like you did before. Like you never did._ He closed the gate behind him; it screeched like a carrion crow, and had set off to find a lock.

"Caesar," the voice shocked him out of his daydream. Rome dropped his bleeding thumb from his mouth and stared at the Legionary across his desk. The man hurriedly dropped a piece of parchment on the desk, careful not to disturb the random assortment of knives, maps, jewels, curling scrolls, broken bits of pottery. Rome picked it up with a callous hand, cursing as he smeared blood across the page. The Legionary shook visibly at his verbal outburst. It heartened Rome to see that, some form of normalcy. He felt drawn back to the present again, which was good. The past always loomed behind him, threatening to swallow him if he turned back. "Another uprising?" He raised his eyebrows at the soldier, who nodded stiffly, his head bobbing like a heron under his oversized helmet.

"They request your personal assistance, sir." Rome threw down the paper, running a hand over his face. There were more lines etched there than he remembered, tracing out his past.

"Of course they do." _Don't go_, a part of him warned. The territories will sort themselves out, but Lovina won't. You need to keep her close, keep her safe. Another part thought, _you must keep growing_. Only then will they truly be safe, once every shadow of the forest is drenched in light, so nothing can hide. "Fine, tell Antonio to ready my horse, and send Francis up here."

* * *

><p>Francis strolled into the room, standing haughtily with a hand thrown to his hip. The boy looked up through heavy lashes, flicking aside his long blond hair, and flashed a coy smile. Every look that boy had could only be labeled as coy. It was all Rome could do not to laugh; he always brought a smile to Rome's face, like watching a strutting tomcat. Francis admired a marble statue in the corner, staring down his nose in what he probably assumed was a debonair fashion. It just made him look rather queasy and like to fall over, but endearing all the same. <em>Just wait until this one gets out of his awkward teen years though, then he'll really be trouble<em>. Rome almost laughed, he was feeling much better now, with something to take his mind off things. He set down the map he was reviewing and leaned on his elbows to watch the boy.

"Your tunic's on backwards Francis. Did you have to dress hurriedly?" He raised his eyebrow as Francis looked at him out of the corner of his eyes, reddening slightly. "I really don't care what you're doing in your spare time Francis, as long as you keep your place."

"Of course, monsieur." The boy smiled, like they were sharing a secret (sharing a secret was better than being punished for one anyhow), and swept a low bow. He bent so low he almost tottered over, but caught his balance and pushed his long curls out of his face as if nothing at all had gone amiss.

"Now Francis, business has called me to the other side of the empire, so I must leave the villa for a while." Francis gave an exaggerated pout which made him seem like a little girl. "But, I have a very important job for you while I'm gone."

"Oui monsieur, I will follow any order to the letter. I would pull up every cobblestone, pick every last grape." He waved his arms dramatically. _You would rather be chasing after every last girl in Rome, and are just trying to get away from here as fast as you can_. "I would…"

"Ah ah now, listen carefully Francis. It's not as hard as all that, but much more important." He stood up from behind his desk and placed his hands on both of Francis' shoulders. The boy stared up at him through soft blue eyes. "I want you to watch after Lovina. I will not have her running away again, do you understand that? I want you to make sure she stays on the villa, that means no trips to town, no walks in the woods." The boy's shoulders drooped slightly. No trips to town meant no town girls. "You are the only one I can trust for this, Francis. You can't give this job to anyone else, all right?" _I will not have her trailed by that boy from the woods. Not until I know more about him, at least. Francis at least knows his place._ "Do you understand?"

"Oui, je comprends." He nodded his head, sending his bright curls bouncing. Rome patted his cheek and smiled.

"Good boy. You watch her now."

* * *

><p>Francis reclined against one of the stall doors in the stable in what he hoped was a dashing manner. He made sure to position himself part in shadow, taking full advantage of the lighting to set his eyes sparkling in the afternoon sun. He was always conscious of angles; you never knew who could be watching. He twirled a little flower between his fingers; it looked like a weed to him, but he knew the action made him look pleasantly distracted, wistful. He waited for the stable boy to walk in and notice him, but this position was starting to make his back cramp up. He wished he would come already so he could stop trying to look like he was lounging.<p>

Rome had told him this was a job just for him, that only he could do. But, that girl was a spitting wildcat in his eyes. She did nothing but scowl. He was sure it would give her wrinkles from screwing her face up like that. He had tried to make her smile, flashing all of his best practiced looks, perfected after hours peering into the still pools down the hill. The girls in town practically collapsed at his feet, but she just cursed stiffly over her shoulder and pushed roughly past him, flicking her messy curls out of her face. She might actually be pretty if she smiled, and combed her hair once in a while. Her brother was so much easier, always smiling, easy to laugh. He was a mess around the house, always getting underfoot and knocking things over, but no one seemed to mind.

Francis was just perfecting his wistful look as Antonio barged into the stable, barely visible under two huge sacks of grain. He propped them in a corner without even looking Francis' way. How annoying. You don't make much of an impression if someone just happens to notice you after rearranging the whole stack of feed bags for fifteen minutes. He gave a theatrical sigh and a pretty pout. Meanwhile, Antonio slit open one sack of grain and attempted to pour the grain into a trough. It wasn't going very well, and Francis' back was cramping up. A change of tactics then.

"Oh, Antonio, I've been trying to find you." Antonio dropped the sack of grain into the trough and turned around. He was almost a head taller than Francis, but from the looks of him, about the same age. _A bit rough around the edges, but with some work, I could make something out of him_. He was tan with a horrible mess of dark hair that always found its way into his eyes and was chopped off at strange angles across his ears, and he had wide green eyes which gave him a perpetual look of surprise. The woods had given him a strange way of holding himself so he looked at once relaxed and ready to charge. _Not the worst face on the villa, though_, Francis conceded.

"You're uh, Francis right? Sorry, I'm bad with names."

"Oui, je m'appelle Francis." He gave a flick of his curls.

"You're the kitchen boy, aren't you? Um, that looks quite uncomfortable. You must have been waiting a while. Is there anything you need?" He wiped his hands off on his tunic and strolled over. He gave a wide smile and held out his hand. "I'm Antonio, but you already know that." Francis took it gingerly in his, and Antonio gave it a hearty shake, jarring Francis up his entire arm.

"I am one of Rome's closest servants, in case you didn't know." Antonio batted his eyes obliviously, obviously unimpressed. "And he has entrusted me with a special task while he is away."

"Oh, well if you need any help with that, I'm always around, but right now the horses need fresh hay." He tried to turn around but Francis stretched out a hand and spun him back around.

"Well, I have many other vital tasks in this household, which require a large portion of my time. I'm always running around after some errand," he added with a pretty little pout, staring off into the space beyond Antonio's head. "And this task requires more time than I have. So I was wondering if you might be able to assist me." He cocked his head at a precise angle so the dim light shot up into his eyes. He'd practiced that one too. Antonio raised his eyebrows and leaned an arm against a support beam.

"What exactly do I have to do?" Francis gave a little shrug, showing how trivial the task was.

"Monsieur Rome just wanted someone to watch after his petite fille while he was gone. Just to make sure she stayed out of the woods and out of trouble."

"And that's too much for you? You can't handle a girl of nine?"

"No," Francis added an offended air to his tone. "She's just a bit stubborn is all, won't listen to a word I say. But, you don't have to talk to her or anything, just spill something on the floor and ask her to clean it up. She just loves to clean. Such a charming girl," he said through gritted teeth.

"Then, why do you need me? I'm not a nursemaid."

"My work requires me to take regular trips into the city for food, that is if we all want to eat. And Rome specifically said not to let her into the city or the woods. You can see the problem can't you?" Antonio shrugged.

"Fine, if you really want to go flirt with those girls in town, I'll keep an eye on her." He shot Francis a sly little grin. Francis smiled and nodded his head in thanks. Whoever this boy was, they thought alike. He left as quickly as he could, since Antonio opened up a stall to let out one of the Legionaries' horses. Those huge animals always worried him. And anyways, he was late for a date in town. That's all right, he thought to himself, it's good to keep them waiting. He brushed a few strands of hay out of his hair and headed for town. Rome wouldn't mind if Antonio looked after her. He'd keep her out of trouble right?

* * *

><p>Antonio had just finished letting the horses out to pasture when he spied a figure dart into the stable. He couldn't tell, but it looked to him like Lovina. He snuck in after her, trying to keep his tread quiet. It was his job, apparently, to keep her out of trouble, though he doubted anyone could keep her away from it if her mind was set on it. The least he could do was help her out of it once she'd barreled straight into it. She was busy at the far wall, standing on her toes to try and reach a scrub brush that was hung from a peg. He smiled and walked up behind her, plucking it off the wall right above her reaching fingers. She spun around quickly, mouth arched down in an exasperated frown.<p>

"It's you again?" She crossed her arms and glared at him. That seemed to be her default facial expression.

"Give me that." She jumped up, trying to grab the brush, but he held it over his head. She barely made it to his shoulder when she jumped. He was really starting to get annoying, showing up everywhere like that. She had even waited till he went to take the horses out to go in and grab the buckets. _And why was he so damn tall? That's fine, I can still kick him in the shins easy enough. _

"Why're you in such a hurry? Are you off to the courtyard?" She glared up at him and refused to answer, debating the implications of kicking him and grabbing her scrub brush. Maybe then he'd finally leave her alone. "The gate's locked still, you know." He lowered the brush and held it right in front of her face. She grabbed it roughly away.

"Of course I know that. I'm going to climb over." She turned around and collected her bucket. Antonio grabbed the other side of the handle and pulled her to a halt.

"Whoa there. You're going around climbing? You, the girl who fell off the stable loft?" She flashed a little smirk and raised an eyebrow.

"Was that concern?"

"No, but apparently Francis has conferred upon me the duty of keeping you out of trouble, and you falling off a building sounds like trouble to me." She gave a frustrated little huff.

"He's having you spy on me? The little bastard."

"Well, to be honest, it's not really spying since I've just told you all about it."

"Well, I don't need a shadow; you'll just get in the way." She jerked the bucket out of his grasp and headed out the door. Antonio sighed and hurried after her. Francis was going to owe him for this. She headed towards the main house, kicking off her sandals and stowing them under a large bush. She paused under a thick wall of vines and turned around. She flicked her arms at him like she was shooing away pesky chickens. "Go away, I don't need your help."

"Well, you've got it. It doesn't matter if you need it or not. I'm not leaving." She sighed and threw the scrub brushes over the fence. Then she shoved the bucket into his hand and turned away with a grumble.

"God damn it, fine. Just go get some water." He turned to leave and by the time he came back she was sprawled across the rooftop, bare feet dangling, wiggling her toes.

"Hey, get down from there. That's dangerous Lovi."

"Stop calling me that and tie this to the bucket already." She unwound a length of rope tied to her waist and threw down one end. As he tied a thick knot to the handle of the bucket she wrapped her hair in a knot at the top of her head, clutching the other end of the rope in her teeth. "Ready," she asked through a mouthful of rope. Antonio gave one quick tug as means of answer and she started to pull the bucket slowly up. Antonio had to duck out of the way of barrages of water, but she managed to pull up a half full bucket and prop it next to her on the roof. "Your turn now, if you're so adamant." He motioned for her to throw down the rope but she laughed down at him scornfully. "I can't haul you up. You have to climb." She indicated towards the wall of vines with a pointed toe. Great, and now he had to climb things. Heights, he just hated heights.

He gritted his teeth and grabbed a fistful of vines. He bit the inside of his cheek as he climbed, to give him something to think about. He would kill her himself if she didn't crack her head open on the ground first. He hated climbing. People were meant to keep both feet on solid ground. Eventually his fingers scrabbled against clay tiles and he hauled himself over the edge. He rested his cheek against the warm clay and got his breath back. She was sitting smugly on the roof looking down at him and swinging her legs. She had already lowered the bucket carefully onto the courtyard floor below. She then hopped to her feet and flitted across the clay tiles to a section of the wall that had crumbled slightly. Broken pottery was stacked in the corner and she jumped lightly from broken amphora to broken amphora until she was on the ground.

"See," she called up as he scrambled awkwardly across the tiles the last ten feet to the pile. A smile pricked at the corners of her mouth, but she quickly stifled it. "No falling." She didn't wait to see if he'd gotten safely to the ground, but tipped the bucket of water across the tiles and picked up a scrub brush. She threw the other one over her shoulder, where it bounced off his head. He winced and picked up the brush.

"The least you could do is scrub," she called without turning around. She herself rubbed furiously at the cobblestones, but after a few hours they still hadn't made much progress. They had uncovered some sort of floral border, but that gave no clues. It was nearly dark by the time they scrambled back over the wall and they were covered in filth. Antonio picked up the bucket and headed off to the stable.

"Well, see you tomorrow then."

"What, really? I haven't bored you to death yet?" Antonio shrugged and smiled down at her. She actually looked upset.

"No. Not at all. And now I _have_ to see what's down there. Night Lovi," he added impishly and sauntered off.

* * *

><p>It took two more weeks of wall climbing, bucket filling, furious scrubbing, and occasional cursing to finish cleaning the empty courtyard. Antonio had tried desperately to pick the lock so he wouldn't have to climb over the roof, but with no success. Lovina found though, that if she climbed across first, she could twist the lock and pop it open from the inside. So, every day Lovina would scurry ahead and look down at him calling out,<p>

"You know idiot, I don't need your help." And he would grit his teeth, watching her dance over the roof, and shout back,

"Don't think I'm letting you crack your head open today. There'll be no falling off roofs on my watch." And she would scrambled easily over the tiles, hopping down into the courtyard and shouting back,

"See, no falling." On the last day, Lovina had stolen a hunk of cheese and a stale loaf of bread while Francis was flirting with a maid, and had tucked it into her tunic. They ate on the clean section of the courtyard. Lovina sat cross-legged, ripping at her hunk of bread with her teeth. Antonio pulled off crumbs and fed them to birds which gathered along the wall.

"Rome's coming home today. You won't have to spy on me anymore," she said to her piece of bread. Antonio leaned back on his elbows and looked up to the sky.

"Yeah, I guess so. Now I can go find some pleasant company." Lovina chucked her crust at his head, but he leaned back and caught it in his mouth. He held it out on his tongue and tried to talk. "Want to come over here and get it back." She gave a sideways little smile and tucked her legs to her chest, leaning her chin on her knees.

"Well it's dirty now. How do I know where you've been?"

""I've been with you," he said through a mouthful.

"Exactly. Come on, let's get the last section, then we can look at it for real." _'We.' She never used to say 'we.'_ She grabbed her scrub brush, now as comfortable as another part of her arm, and headed to the corner that was still covered in dried mud. Antonio leaned over and traced his fingers along the mosaic tiles. This part of the mosaic was some ocean scene, complete with stylized dolphins. But closer to the center stone grapevines framed something. That was all that was left to be uncovered. "Are you going to help or are you going to nap?" Lovina snapped and Antonio picked up his own brush.

It took them another half hour to clear away the rest of the grime, but as soon as they were finished uncovering the tiles, which looked like rosy lips to Antonio, she covered his eyes with her hands and pulled him over to the crumbling section of the wall.

"We have to climb up and look. No peeking." She was practically giddy. He even heard a stifled giggle, and smiled. _I've never seen her like this_. He kept his eyes closed, as commanded, and she grabbed one of his hands to lead him up the wall. He almost pulled back in surprise; she'd never done that either.

"What more climbing?" he asked with a fake whine. He climbed up onto the wall and she waited for him to pull her up. She twirled around in a circle with her arms held out, her tunic ballooning around her legs. "Hurry up you lazy bastard, I want to see." But Antonio was frozen in place, eyes wide open.

"Hey Lovina." He rarely called her that. She froze. "Turn to face me, won't you? Yeah, straight on like that." She did as was told, peering up at him through furrowed brows.

"What is it? I haven't grown another arm have I?"

"No, it's just… It looks, she looks like you." Lovina wiped at her dirty face with the back of a hand and peered around her at the gleaming tiles. The sun chose to peek over the villa wall, and set the tiny chips of stone to gleaming. Pinpricks of light shone across her whole body, reflected up from the stones beneath her bare feet, the ones which, from Antonio's perch showed the delicate face of a young woman who gazed up at him from very familiar olive eyes.


	4. The Homecoming

**Author's Note/Historical Background**: SPOILERS, DON'T READ TILL AFTER. Yeah, maybe I should have put this at the end of the chapter, but who needs common sense. So, Southern Italy was originally a colony of Greece, and was called Magna Graecia, or Great Greece, in Rome, so I made Lovina resemble Greece (see, I have my reasons for everything). I'll start putting these at the bottom. This part may be a little slow, I just had some back-story explaining to do. The next few parts will have more action though, I promise. The Roman Empire doesn't last forever, right. Anywho, I'd love your feedback, especially critique, and let me know if there's a historical moment you want to see.

4. The Homecoming

"I don't know what you're talking about. You're going mad in the heat. Move over," Lovina grumbled. She shot angry looks up at him as she scrambled onto the wall. _What had he said?_ She was practically giddy the moment before. He shuffled sideways to let her up onto the wall, but she stopped midway, looking out over the house. From here they could see most of the surrounding fields. She furrowed her brows against the sunlight and then hurriedly gathered her tunic in her hands, scrambling the rest of the way onto the roof.

"He's back, Tonio. Come on, you idiot." She was already running as he screamed back after her,

"Wait there's no hurry. And I am not crawling across that roof. Shouldn't we clean up here?" She paused, bending down on all fours like some cat, and called down angrily at him as he made his way to the ground. Her hair fell in wisps out of her braid, sticking up at odd angles. It was lightening to auburn with the sun. It was ridiculous the things he noticed.

"Just leave it. It'll still be here when we get back. Come _on_. You're so goddam slow." She was off again, disappearing over the edge of the roof. She really was going to get herself killed one day, scurrying about like that. Antonio sighed and pulled open the courtyard gate. He couldn't close it from the outside, but pulled it as tight behind him as he could. It wouldn't matter anyways; Lovina could always come along later and close it. Besides, Rome was home. He hurried around the edge of the house, not bothering to look back as the gate blew open in the wind.

* * *

><p>Lovina jumped lightly onto a separate section of the roof that intersected over another small courtyard. From here, she could just spot the red banners poking over the roof like wildflowers. It wouldn't be good to let Rome see her darting about the roofs; she never knew what he'd think. She kept her body low to the tiles as she ran towards the noise of horses. She picked a low section of roof and dropped backwards off it, clinging with her knees till she could get a good hold and swing her legs down. Then she dropped, rolling lightly and bounding up to her feet. She had to fight to keep her pace even, to keep from breaking out into a run. She rounded a corner into the large yard.<p>

It was ringed with horses, mounted by stern men bearing the Roman standard. They barely seemed to notice her. She probably looked like some scullery maid, covered in dirt with her hair sticking out like twigs in a nest. She hurriedly tried to smooth down her hair, but that made more wisps fly out around her face. Oh well, it was too late for that. Feliciano skipped out of the house, shining white in a clean new tunic. He spotted Francis and bounced over to him, grabbing hold of his hand and beaming up at him. He noticed Lovina in the shadows and giggled, waggling his unoccupied hand at her. Francis looked over, raised his eyebrow at the dirt on her clothes and shook his head.

Well, who cared what Francis thought anyways? Lovina skirted around the edges of the servants who had gathered to greet the party, and stood behind Feli. Maybe Rome wouldn't notice the state of her clothes. He probably would get too preoccupied with cuddling Feli anyways. The boy was babbling away happily to a kitchen maid next to him who smiled and giggled, blushing prettily in the summer heat. The servants kept out of Lovina's way, separating off into packs. Lovina felt utterly alone and exposed. She became painfully aware of the scabs on her knees from bending down on the tiles for so long, and tried to tug on her tunic to hide them.

"Why're you fidgeting?" a voice whispered into her ear. She jumped, knocking into a maid next to her, who glared at her until she realized who it was and backed away, whispering to her friend. Antonio leaned over her with his hands clasped behind his back. He smiled lazily down at her, like he always did. He always looked as if he'd just woken up from a good dream and was trying to remember the details, somehow alert and daydreaming at the same time.

"I'm not fidgeting. I'm just trying to look…presentable is all." She stuck her chin up in the air and turned away from him.

"Where's Rome? I mean, all this fuss and he hasn't even shown up yet." Antonio asked, leaning down to whisper in her ear. Lovina shoved him away with her shoulder. The maid that Lovina had knocked into looked over at Antonio and giggled, hiding her smile behind a hand. Lovina rolled her eyes.

"He likes to show up late. He usually has things to discuss in town before he comes. But don't worry, you won't miss him. He likes to make an entrance." She crossed her arms over her chest and tried to ignore the girl next to her. She practically fell on top of her trying to lean over to Antonio, as if Lovina wasn't there at all. Antonio didn't seem to notice though. He must be totally oblivious.

"And we really have to wait out here in the sun till he comes?" Antonio pulled at his tunic to let a breeze down his shirt. The maid sighed, her face flushed. Lovina stared straight ahead at the back of Feliciano's head. His little curl quivered as he excitedly explained something to the girl next to him. She smiled and pinched him on the cheek, adopting that high-pitched voice women reserved for puppies and sweet children. Francis turned to the kitchen servant next to him and winked. She inched closer and ran her foot up and down Francis' leg. He leaned over to whisper something in her ear. Lovina was starting to feel sick; it must be the heat.

Antonio didn't seem to notice anything though. He whistled happily to himself, staring down the line of men, trying to count them all. Some girl was staring at him. He hoped he didn't have anything on his face, and wiped at it with the back of his hand to make sure. Guess not, maybe he was making a strange face? She was leaning forward exaggeratedly, constantly playing with her hair. Maybe she was overheating in the sun. Lovina didn't seem much better off. Her earlier good mood had totally evaporated under the heat and she couldn't stop fidgeting with her clothes. She stared fixedly ahead, clenching her jaw. There was a commotion in the back of the column, standards waving in the air, a cloud of dust.

"What's that?" he asked, pointing to the growing ruckus. Lovina gave an audible huff as a group of soldiers reigned up in the courtyard, horses snorting. They beat their hooves in the air, pacing the tiles with loud clicks.

"Oh, that would be him. I told you, he has to make an entrance." A white stallion burst from the long line of soldiers, which must have caused all the commotion, and Rome reigned up alongside the group of servants. He flicked his red cape across the horse's flanks, catching it in the sun. Next to Antonio, Lovina rolled her eyes. He leaned over in the saddle and vaulted off the horse. Something seemed amiss though. Was it only a trick of the light, or did Antonio see him wince?

Feliciano raced forwards, grabbing Lovina behind him with a hand on her arm. She went forwards grudgingly, trying to cover up her dirty knees with her other hand. Antonio skirted around the edge of the crowd, watching them. Lovina held back, a scowl on her face, as Feliciano bounded into Rome. The boy wrapped his arms around his Nonno's knees, burying his face in his greaves. Did he stagger on his feet, or was Antonio seeing things?

Rome smiled down at his nipote, who only came up to his waist. The boy was looking up at him, babbling happily away. Rome leaned down, every muscle in his body protesting and grabbed the boy's hand in his own. His fingers totally covered the boy's little hand. Feliciano refused to let go of his leg, continuing to describe to it, since it was the closest thing to eye level, all about his day. Rome smiled down at him. Finally, some sort of normalcy. Something shuffled its feet next to Feliciano. Rome looked up.

Lovina peeked out from a mess of curls. Both of her hands were tugging at the hem of her tunic, her toes squirming over each other as she tried to hide her bare feet. Mud was smeared across one cheek, her knees bruised purple and covered in scabs. She chewed at the side of her lip as Rome raised an eyebrow.

"You really should take better care of your appearance, Lovina. People will take you for nothing more than a common servant. Couldn't you have changed into something more appropriate for our guests?" he waved vaguely at the column of men behind him. A red flush spread across her face, but her brows lowered and she set her feet apart. She breathed in heavily, readying for a long argument.

"It's not my fault if I'm the only one who can do anything around here. You don't think I can do anything but…" She was getting ready to say something more when a figure strode over from the huddle of servants. He nudged Lovina in the ribs and she glared up at him. Rome turned awkwardly, with Feli still clutching at his leg, to stare at the servant who had the nerve to assault his nipote. Antonio darted out of reach as Lovina tried to kick him in the shins and flashed a bright smile at him, his captor.

"We are all glad to see you back again, Señor Rome, especially Lovi." Lovina snorted as a reply, turning her head away from him. She pushed her nose into the air and crossed her arms haughtily. Rome smiled to himself; she was still quite a handful. The boy shone copper from the sun, his eyes bright in a flushed face. His hair was beginning to grow out over his ears again and run, ungainly, down his neck. He looked wild and out of place in the manicured courtyard, yet utterly at ease. Rome was taken aback. _That could have been me in my younger days, untamable, cocky, searching_. The boy's eyes closed in a smile and he held out his hand.

"Your horse, Señor." Rome stared at him as if he was a ghost holding out a shard of his past._ What is it you're chasing after, boy? I can't give it to you. I can't lose everything again. _He started back to the present, looking down at Lovina who peered up at him with concern. He cleared his throat and placed the reins gently in Antonio's outstretched hand, careful not to touch him. It unnerved him to look back into his own face, young and alive, and hungry.

"Take him and go. I want him watered and rubbed down before you go," he said gruffly. His bones still ached and he wanted to be alone for a while. He was far too old for all this riding. He dismissed the servants and stood still while they all left, patting Feliciano on the head and trying to stay upright. Antonio led the stallion away, looking over its broad back as he headed for the stables. Lovina glanced back at him, but didn't move.

She stood while all of the servants filed away to cook up the evening meal, grumbling about the extra mouths to feed, or shuffled off to find sleeping arrangements for all the extra men. She watched Rome out of the corner of her eye. He had a grimace plastered on his face, and there was an unhealthy pallor that she hadn't previously noticed. Feli didn't seem to see anything was the matter, and still clung to his leg happily. Rome tried to turn around and give his men orders, but stumbled slightly. Lovina heard his sharp intake of breath as he winced. It wasn't just her imagination. Silently, she grabbed hold of Feli's hand and coaxed his away from their Nonno, cutting off his story. He was always babbling happily, like water skipping over stones, and usually everyone found it charming. If she did anything like that, they'd all tell her to keep her mouth closed.

"Wh…what is it Lovina?" he mumbled, confused at being cut off. She wrapped her fingers around his.

"I don't know yet. Just hush for a second." He chewed his lip and scanned the soldiers, searching for the cause of her concern. He could really be oblivious. Between him and Antonio, the whole world was oblivious. Rome finished speaking and the soldiers nodded, turning their horses and trotting off towards the stables. He ran a hand over his face and sighed, then realized that Feliciano and Lovina were still watching him, and smiled down at them. There were things they didn't need to know about.

"Go along children." He brushed them away like he was chasing away chickens, flicking his hands. "Get ready for dinner. I have a few things I need to see to. And wash your face, won't you Lovina?" Feliciano skipped off towards the house, pulling Lovina behind him, but she glanced over her shoulder at him, head cocked to the side. There was something there behind that smile, like clouds advancing on the horizon.

* * *

><p>Rome was alone again once they darted into the house. He leaned on his good leg, and rubbed out his aching muscles. The campaign hadn't gone very well. It seemed like he was losing territory each day. Everywhere he went hateful eyes glared up at him from among his doting citizens. He couldn't go on like this. Every other month another territory was in revolt.<p>

His armor, which had once seemed more comfortable to him than his own skin, now hung heavy from his shoulders, sticky with sweat under the beating sun. He felt so old. And that boy, the look he had given him, like seeing a ghost of yourself. He shivered in the heat. Well, the boy hadn't run away like he'd hoped, or had he hoped for that? Some part of him wanted to see the boy flourish. The rest wanted to push him away, to rub out all thoughts of the past. No, not all of it. If he forgot about Her, it would be like she'd never existed. Someone had to remember, even if it hurt. Suddenly he just had to see Her again, just that one eye, watchful, peaceful, gazing up from the floor of their courtyard.

His feet found their way without him realizing it.

* * *

><p>Feliciano ducked into his room to change, but Lovina climbed out the window and crawled across the hot roof. Her feet burned with each step, but she flew to the far side of the house and slipped onto the ground. The shadows were a gracious relief. The stable doors were wide open and full of the noise of horses and stable hands. She sidled to the back side of the stables, where Antonio was filling up a bucket of water.<p>

"Psst," she hissed, peeking her head around the wall. He had his head bent low over the well and didn't look up. "Psst." Her head darted back and forth, hoping none of the other stable hands would notice her. She jumped from foot to foot impatiently. The idiot was so frustrating sometimes. "Come on you bastard," she yelled, then clapped her hand over her mouth. Everyone in the whole villa must have heard that.

"Oh, Lovi. I didn't notice you," Antonio pulled the bucket over the edge of the well with one hand and set it down on the ground. He flashed that ridiculous lopsided smile. God, he was deaf _and_ an idiot.

"We have to go back to the courtyard."

"Why? I closed the gate, and I still have horses that need tending to." She sighed exasperatedly.

"They'll still be here when you get back, and we have to get the buckets." He scowled down at her.

"Don't act like a little princess. I _do_ have work sometimes. I can't keep running after you."

"But, with all these horses and men and everything, someone's going to notice the buckets are gone, and they'll go looking. They'll see the courtyard."

"You know it's not exactly hidden. If people want to find it, they will." She was getting upset. How did no one else see that something was wrong?

"Something's happening with Nonno. I just don't want him finding it yet, all right. Please, Tonio. I don't want anyone taking that away from me. I finally get something of my own, and I don't want him to take it away." He sighed and picked up the bucket, walking over to the door of the stables.

"Fine," he sighed as he placed the bucket against the wall. "Just one quick trip and then you'll leave me alone, right?" but she was already gone, shimmying up a pile of crates stacked against the house. _Why was he still running after her? It really was not worth another trip across the roofs_. But he followed anyways, shaking his head.

* * *

><p>They crawled slowly across the rooftop, keeping low to the tiles, though the heat was almost unbearable. Lovina's toes were burning, and she was sure layers of skin were just shriveling off completely, but there were too many servants running around to just stroll up to the courtyard, and Antonio had locked the gate anyways.<p>

She didn't know quite why she had to go back to the courtyard. It was almost as if it would disappear if she didn't check on it, like it had never been there in the first place, or the beautiful mosaic would melt back into a floor of cracked dirt. And she couldn't leave any chance that someone would find it. It was her place now. Her place or _their_ place? Was that it? Did she just want something that was only hers? She had found something in the woods, and she had found something in the courtyard. She just wanted something free of the rest of them, away from Francis and his disapproving looks, from Feliciano who was always smiling and beautiful and loved, away from Rome and his 'you'll understand someday's and exasperated sighs. She wanted something new and wild, untamed.

They had come to the other side of the roof, closest to the courtyard. Antonio struggled behind her, skittering across the tiles. She heard a sound and stopped suddenly.

"What is it?" Antonio hissed. His whole attention was focused on keeping himself on the roof. Lovina shrugged and edged closer on hands and knees. She heard a stifled cry; her whole body went rigid. She leaned over the roof carefully, peering into the courtyard below.

There was a figure down there, standing awkwardly in the gateway, a hand clutching at the metal gate to keep upright. Maybe it was one of the soldiers. He had on the scale armor and all, shining dully in the light that crept over the roof. From here she couldn't see his face, but then he spoke.

"Oh God, look at you, Greece. It's been so long." Rome sank to the ground, running a hand along the tiles. Lovina's breath caught in her throat; she was unable to move, clutching the roof under her. "What do I do without you? It's never enough." He traced the patterns of the mosaic, and to Lovina's horror, his shoulders began to shake. "I'm so old, so old. I never should have lived past you. Everything aches. Nothing makes sense. I only wanted you, that's all." His hands moved faster, twirling in patterns like some complex ritual. Suddenly, Lovina wanted to run, to rush away across the tiles, to be anywhere but there. She didn't want to hear this.

"Stop looking at me. Stop trying to understand, can't you see I'm a monster," he screamed. On the roof, Lovina flinched. He tried to claw at the tiles, but his fingers scraped uselessly against the floor. She tried to close her eyes, but that just amplified the sound. Her fingers dug into the clay, sinking it into her nails. She should never have come. This wasn't what she'd wanted. Where was Tonio? On the ground, Rome looked down at his hands, bloody from the tiles, and pressed his forehead to the mosaic.

"What do I do without you?" There was a scrabbling sound behind her and Antonio collided with Lovina's back. She tipped off balance, clutching at the tiles with a stifled gasp. She twisted off the roof, grabbing out for the edge of the tiles to slow her fall. She was over the pile of rubble, and rolled down it so she landed in a heap on the ground, covered in dust but unharmed. Antonio came tumbling afterwards, crashing behind her in a smash of pottery. Lovina tried to stand up, but her legs seemed clumsy and useless. And then Rome was looming over them, fire burning in his eyes, his mouth set in a snarl, a demon she'd never seen before.

"What are you doing here?" he growled. Lovina was choking on air, crawling backwards on hands and knees. Rome had his hand on the short sword at his hip. Lovina tried to scramble in front of Antonio. For some reason she had to get between him and Rome. He wouldn't hurt her, not her Nonno. But this was no man that she knew. Above her, Rome took a ragged breath. "What did you see? What did you _do_?"


	5. Shadows of the Past

**Author's Note**: So, I'm changing the ages because Antonio was a little too old. _Now they're three years apart instead of five_. So, Lovina's still nine and now Antonio is twelve. Sorry for the confusion. It was just a little too weird for there to be that much age gap. And sorry this has been on hold for a long time. I'm not super happy with this chapter, but the demon of writer's block has claimed another soul. Next chapter will be better, I promise. If not, you're all free to send me angry messages. Basically, this is the beginning of Rome's descent into madness. There were a string of mentally unstable emperors, and I thought Rome himself could follow that trend. He has grown too large to control, and is consumed by the past, trying to retain everything that Greece was while repressing all thoughts of her, and it is tearing him apart. He has created a rift in his reality, and somehow thinks that the characters of his past, including a younger him, have come back.

5. Shadows of the Past

Rome's blood pounded in his head, a war drum beat pulsing behind his eyes. His fingers throbbed, cut by the mosaic tiles, a blood offering for the dead. But no, she wasn't dead. What was that thing on the ground, those wide eyes gazing up in fear, in horror? He'd never seen her this young. He had just been some scrubby boy back then, hair flopping down in his eyes, and she was always there above him, pure and white, hair blown by the breeze. But there she was, crouched to the ground, dirt smeared across her face, staring up at him. She seemed terrified, frozen still. How it hurt to see her like that, looking at him with terror. _Why Greece? After so long, this is how you greet me_? And who was that behind her? A boy looked around, stunned. He rubbed the back of his head and winced. She seemed to be crouched in front of him, protectively almost, holding one arm up against him as if that would protect her. Rome snarled, reaching for his sword. _How dare someone touch her_. She was so young, so impossibly young. _You were so much more than me back then. Look at us now. _His sword rattled in its sheath, hissing as he drew it. His hand felt so far away, out of his control.

"You," he growled, pointing the blade over her shoulder to the boy crouched in the rubble. "What did you do to her? Are you trying to take her away again? You'll make me bury her again?" His vision blurred at the edges and he blinked rapidly to try and clear it.

"Nonno?" No wait. That voice. It was all wrong. The girl on the ground, Lovina not Greece, held up her hand, pleading. "We didn't know." _No, neither did I. There are so many things I still don't know, like when someone's dead, they really are gone_. He lowered his sword, suddenly so tired. There was nothing he could say. His mouth suddenly didn't work. What was happening to him? He steadied his sword and slipped it back in its scabbard. It should have never been drawn. "I'm sorry," Lovina ventured shyly from the ground.

"No, little one, I'm the one who is sorry. I should have never done a thing like that, I was just. I wasn't in the present." He held out his hand. She hesitated and slipped her hand gingerly into his own, letting him draw her to her feet. Behind her, the boy rose to his feet, brushing clay dust off of his tunic. Rome turned to him, brows lowering. "What were you doing on the roof?"

"We just left some buckets in the courtyard and, and we had to come get them. We didn't want anyone missing them and going searching. You weren't supposed to find the courtyard," she mumbled sadly, looking down at the hand enveloped in his. "And now you'll take that away too."

"But what were you doing letting her run around on the roof like a pigeon?" he growled at Antonio, seeming not to notice the girl by his side. He couldn't tell who he was angry with, the boy or himself. "She is a lady of this house, not some common servant sent to clean the gutters."

"Well, she's not just some amphora either. You can't just sit her down on a pedestal and leave her to catch dust. She isn't going to shatter," the boy said suddenly. It seemed to surprise both Rome and Lovina, who both turned around to look at him.

"Don't you dare tell me how to run my house. You're just a boy who has no idea what he's talking about. Go back to the forest you came from." He jabbed his arm at the darkening line of the forest behind them.

"No." It reverberated around the courtyard, growing stronger as it bounced between the crumbling walls. The boy folded his arms across his chest, lowering his head slightly like a bull waiting to charge. He fixed Rome with an emerald glare, catching his gaze and holding it. His hair hung long down the bridge of his nose, throwing his eyes into shadow. Rome suppressed a shudder. _Like staring back at yourself_, he thought. _I thought that boy died long ago_. "I'm not leaving yet, not after all this. You can't just take something, mold it and then throw it away. It's your responsibility. Once you've started something, you see it to the end. And the decision isn't yours anyways," he shrugged. "She found me. If she tells me to leave, I'll go. But I won't take it from you."

Rome stared down at him, unable to find anything to say. Lovina peered curiously at him from behind her Nonno's shoulder as if seeing him for the first time. "_Why did you save me_?" _Well, why do you stay, when you're given the choice to flee, to run free? What's here that's worth giving up the whole world? _Lovina looked up at her Nonno, half expecting him to pull out his sword and bring the boy to his knees, but she saw the hint of a smile playing across his face.

He put a hand gently on Lovina's shoulder, trying to steer her towards the gate. He suddenly felt so old, needed to be alone with his memories. But Lovina tugged at his cape, holding him back.

"Wait, you can't just shove us away and pretend nothing happened. Nonno, what is this place?" Antonio waited a few steps away, out of reach.

"Who is she?" he asked, waving a hand at the glittering tiles which serenely surveyed the courtyard. Rome paused, looking up at the darkening sky. They deserved to know after all that.

"I loved her once, such a very long time ago. You can see where that got her." He turned towards Antonio and cocked his head to the side, as if that would help him see clearer. "Love is a frightening thing, boy. You find yourself clutching something until you choke it; find yourself needing the pain till you're both strangling each other. Predator and prey caught up in a dance, reveling in each other's struggle. And then when they leave, there's an open wound that never heals, just rips open again. You never really let them leave, never give them rest, never give yourself peace. It'll kill you. It's so easy to love the thing you fear, or fear the thing you love. Sometimes it's hard to tell."

Lovina stared up at him, eyes wide like a doe's. Her long fingers were twined up in the fringe of his cape. He ran a hand along her hair and she closed one eye against the heavy touch.

"You look so much like her sometimes; it's hard to remember she's gone." His voice was so sad she wanted to pull away, as if it would catch and envelop her. He pushed away from her gently so her hands fell to her side, and walked to the edge of the courtyard. He held the iron gate open and they filed silently out, forgetting entirely about the buckets strewn against the wall. He slid the gate closed, with a stifled cry from the metal hinges. Lovina slipped her fingers between Antonio's subconsciously, and they left him there, separated by so much time, trapped in his stone world of memories. Only when they had turned the corner did he allow himself to sink to the ground, shoulders heaving with bitter tears.


	6. A New Campaign

6. A New Campaign

Rome gathered his troops by the end of the week, and just as sudden as their arrival, the mansion was left in paralyzed quiet. Lovina watched from the roof, crouched down so no one could see her, as the red flower standards were swallowed by the hills. _I drove him away again. I can't do anything right_.

Rome had called Antonio into his office before he left, eyeing the boy over his crowded desk. Antonio had paced the length of the room like a lion in the cages of the Coliseum, too much meat in too little space.

"Boy," Rome called, a low growl which rumbled across the marble. He never called him by his name. "I want you to come with me on my next campaign, to care for the horses." _I could also do to keep you away from my nipote_. But was that the only reason? _Do I want you to be me? Should I give you that chance? I was lost back then, directionless. I hurt so many people. That can't happen again. _Antonio rolled his shoulders back, arms crossed over a puffed up chest.

"And what if I say no?"

"Not many people can come close to my stallion and I could use a boy who can keep the animals calm." The two eyed each other, two predators sizing each other up in the brush.

"Will they be coming?" He didn't have to explain further; Rome understood.

"I won't drag my children into a war zone. They're too young for that. But I'm giving you a chance. I see much of myself in you, though I'm loath to admit it." He leaned back in his chair, resting his sandaled feet on the immense desk. "I could make a warrior out of you."

"Then no, I'm not going. You may be a great warrior, a great conqueror, but you can't care for what you take." Antonio turned to leave with a shrug.

"Stop," Rome commanded, slamming his palm down on the desk and lurching to his feet. His words reverberated, uncomfortably large in the small room, taking up all the extra space. Neither one could breathe for the closeness of them. "I did _not_ give you a second option. It is an honor to serve the Empire, one you _cannot_ turn down. I suggest that you learn your place, boy." He had walked around the desk, towering over the boy. "Learn now what those of your rank can expect, because you are reaching too high. You will learn discipline, respect, or you will leave my service. Is that understood?" Antonio looked reproachfully up at him.

"When do we leave?" he growled. _As soon as we can_, Rome thought. _Before I get fully lost in the past. Away from those eyes, I can almost forget_. To the boy he said,

"Sunrise. It is a long ride." The boy slammed the door behind him and Rome was left alone again with the echoes.

* * *

><p>Lovina found Antonio in the loft of the stables, twisting hay around his fingers. She slipped into the door and crawled up the ladder on bare feet.<p>

"There's no one out in the vineyard. No one will miss a few grapes. Come on, before the sun sets and we can't tell which ones are ripe." She dropped an empty satchel at his feet but he didn't look up. She chucked a brush at his head and it bounced off without him even trying to duck. "What are you deaf, you idiot?" Antonio addressed the wooden boards beneath his feet rather than look up at her.

"I have to go away for a while." He chose each word carefully, sounding it out before he let it fall, afraid they would jump back and bite him. He was never good with words.

"What, where would you go?"

"With Rome. I don't really know where." He chuckled hollowly. "I guess I should ask before we get there, at least know the name of the place I'll die."

"What do you mean? What do you…Why would?" Suddenly her skin was prickling with anger, anger at her tripping mouth, the tears stinging her eyes, angry at him. "You can't just go. He can't just take you. Why? Why would he?" She was sounding like a spoiled child.

"I don't know all right. You think I want to go out there and kill people? I have no qualms with them." He stood up and brushed roughly past her, knocking her against the wall. She scrambled down the ladder after him as he rummaged through a storage bin in the corner. She watched him pick up tools, run his finger along them, set them down. He picked up his spare tunic folded it once, with the sleeves sticking out awkwardly from the edges. He tried twice more before he gave up and threw it in a heap against the wall with a growl. Lovina picked it up slowly, tucking the sleeves gingerly like broken wings, and placed it in his hands.

"You could leave you know, just head for the forest." She turned to the back wall, picking up a saddle and walked with it, tottering, to the nearest horse. It was almost as big as she was and when she reached up to slide it onto the horse's back she slipped it one backwards. She curled under the horse's belly, frantically trying to buckle all of the straps and succeeding in strapping them all wrong just as the saddle tried to flop upside down.

"You could run away, no one would find you. You don't have to go," she continued, stuffing a bridle into the unwilling horse's mouth. She thrust the reins at him, forcing his hands closed around them. "You don't have to go with him." She bit down hard on her cheek to keep from crying. Antonio shook his head.

"You said it was my choice didn't you. You said you'd leave when I told you to, so go." He shook his head again. "Don't lie to me, just leave." She wanted to hit him, like scaring away pigeons with stones. She just wanted him to stop looking at her, to curl up and pretend none of this had happened. Wordlessly, he began to undo the straps on the saddle and slipped it off the horse's back.

"I'm not just going to run away. I'll leave when you don't want me anymore, but I won't let him chase me away. I have to go."

"You don't have to; you always have a choice."

"He isn't going to break me, not yet. I have to go Lovina." She stared up at him for a minute, fists clenching and releasing at her side, over and over. Nothing she did would hold him there, and he wouldn't let her set him free.

"Fine, but you had better not do anything stupid. I don't care if we win, I don't care if you try and be a hero. I don't care if you come back here shunned as a coward, just you had better come back you bastard."

She spun around and left him there, clutching the saddle. She knew she should turn back, should beg her father to let him stay, command him to leave, hold his hand to keep it from shaking. She shouldn't let him sit all night in the dark, alone. But she couldn't go back and sit there with him like nothing had changed. There was a rift between them now; the world was calling him and she was still trapped in her cage, crying out for him to open the lock.

* * *

><p>Lovina crawled onto the roof, feeling the warmth of the clay tiles under her bare toes. She curled her legs up to her chest, hugging her knees. She felt so cold in her thin nightclothes, so exposed. She should have been down there to see them off, should have told him goodbye. But it was too permanent, and she never had any words. He wouldn't leave like they had and never come back, not without closure. That meant that he had to come back.<p>

There were rows of grapes still on the vines, waiting for moonlight snacks, juice running down their chin as they lounged between the vines. There were old clay pots lined up along low garden walls, still unhit by thrown stones, waiting to fall; there were still birds' nests tucked into corners, waiting for them to chance upon, toads down by the stream that still needed to be dropped in Francis' cup at dinner. He still had to teach her to whistle by holding a blade of grass between her thumbs and pressing it to her lips. She had to learn how to catch minnows with her bare and wriggling toes. She still had knots to learn how to tie; he still had Latin to learn how to write. He had to come back.

She pressed her chin into her knees to keep from crying as she watched the column move out. A black horse wheeled around, thin legs kneading the air. A figure looked up at the sky, shading his eyes against the sun. Of course, the only one who would look up to say goodbye. He gave a quick wave and even so far away, she could see him smile. But then he was lost by the tide of bodies around him, pulling him away. He fought for a second, darting the horse's head back and forth, but was pushed on, leaving her behind. She couldn't move until the whole column disappeared over the spine of the hills, and her joints were stiff with cold.

She sat there well into the day, hoping that the world would spin backwards and send them galloping back, legs whirling in reverse, until they were home. By midday, the sun had burned her neck raw and people were calling out her name. She crawled over the searing tiles, away from the voices, until she came to the low section of wall and slid down into the cold courtyard.

She lay in the cool pools of shadow and traced the designs with her hands, whirling waves and dancing dolphins, till she came to the calm face. She brushed at the stone cheek, tried to close the cold eye with her fingers.

"The dead are supposed to watch over us, aren't they?" No one answered. "We let you see again, so you can watch over us. Take care of him. Please," She hesitated, testing the name on her tongue. "Greece, please. Bring him home. Bring all of them home."


	7. Waiting for the Dawn

**Author's/Historical Note: **I said earlier that Spain was an important part of the empire, contributing a few emperors over the years. Rome sees in Spain what he always wanted in a child, and he wants to teach him how to be a great warrior. So, I had to choose a campaign to send them off on, and decided they were heading towards the Germanic tribes to subdue them. There had been previous battles, some ending in defeat such as the Battle of the Teutoburg Forest, where three legions were destroyed by Arminius' force. This shattered Roman pride and they retaliated with a campaign under the command of Germanicus (yeah, confusing name, I know), the adopted son and heir of the emperor Tiberius (a parallel to Rome and Spain if you squint).

7. Waiting for the Dawn

They had ridden for days till it seemed that Antonio had known nothing else. His world was a rolling sea of horseback, chewing up acres of land behind bright red standards, punctuated by the setting up and taking down of tents. So far war seemed nothing more than the act of moving, slogging along weapons and baggage under a mocking sun. East they moved, always east, but it seemed like they'd never get anywhere.

This was a crueler world of hulking boulders thrown by giant's hands, hulking pines that stole away the sky for days as they rode, cold winds that blew over barren plains. Antonio missed the warm sun and the lush green of the villa. Olive green eyes. He pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders and flicked the reins, jolting the horse back out of its trancelike gait. He steered up the column, looking for Rome among the faceless crowd. They all blended together until he couldn't tell one from the next, just a wave of red and shining metal, an army of sun and blood. _I'm part of that now_, he thought. _No one will be able to tell me apart_. He shivered under his cloak.

Men waved at him as he passed. He was popular among most of the troops, listening wide-eyed to tales of their conquests, conquests of all types. They told him of dusky women in far off mountains, thousands of miles passed under tired feet. It made them smile to see the campfire light his eyes as they spun tales of heroes and painted demons, stabbing at the air with chicken bones or greasy spits. They would pull out their arms and lay them glittering across their knees for him to see, as if he could measure the blood that had whetted the blades: fat pugio and long spatha drinking up the liquid fire. Antonio had never seen such hungry iron.

He drew up alongside Rome, holding back a few paces to listen without intruding. He was talking to some general, though Antonio couldn't remember the man's name, Germanicus, Geranium, something of the sort. Antonio closed his eyes and let the horse's gait rock him, listening.

"We'll have to draw them out of the forest. We need to attack them in full force, not just pick them off in bits and pieces. Germania's coming. They can't be allowed to escape, not after the debacle at Teutoburg."

"We'll end it now before they grow any stronger. They've been a thorn in our side for too long. Are you sure Germania will be there?" There was a bite to Rome's voice, one Antonio could not understand. Was it sorrow, hope, anger?

"Him and the whelp will be there, we've made sure of it, and Arminius, that devil. I have to admire him for his skill, but I'd much rather admire his head on a spike. They've camped the other side of the river, mostly the Cherusci, but some smaller tribes as well. We can catch them there before they melt back into the forest and draw them out. With our force, they won't be able to win." Antonio looked at Rome, curious. He looked up to the sky as if he was searching for something, sighed, nodded.

"We've been playing this game long enough. I want them taken, all of them. Dead, alive, it doesn't matter, just end it." He flicked the reins and his stallion charged off for the snaking line of the river in the distance.

* * *

><p>Antonio slid off his horse's back, rubbing along its broad nose. He led it over to the white stallion standing stiffly outside a large tent. He tied the reins to a tent pole and began to rub the white horse down, looking to the tack and checking for stones. He pulled out a handful of meal and ran his fingers through the horse's mane as it ate, glad for a living touch. He knew he shouldn't feed them from his hand, but the touch of their feathery mouths on his hand was comforting, familiar. After slipping on his own horse's riding blanket, he knelt to collect kindling for a fire; the nights were getting darker, colder. A legionary came up behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder.<p>

"No fires tonight, boy. We don't want them to know where we are, how many we are." Antonio dropped his armful of sticks, looking up at the shaded face of the man. He was just a nose, a slice of chin, a spark of metal in the night, not even a man.

"So, they're coming," he said quietly once the man had left, sinking down onto a log. He should be afraid, he knew that. But somehow he couldn't muster it, it took too much energy.

He'd seen men die before, happened on crumpled bodies in the woods. But they'd fostered no fear. They looked as if they'd never lived, no breath could have passed through those frozen lungs. And they looked so peaceful. Death held no fear for him. Neither did dying, not after watching a man gored by a boar's tusks, turned to a thrashing mess of red, slick worms and grasping fingers, smelling of iron blood. No, he wasn't afraid, he decided. Just tired.

He pulled his wool cloak tighter about his shoulders, blanketed in the now familiar musty, oily smell. He could hear the truncated words of the legionaries around him, the clank of cups, sliding of metal plate. The night was bristling with life. He felt so alone. He tucked his hands under his arms to warm his fingers and looked to the sky. Tomorrow many of these men around him would be gone, turned into frozen dolls, broken statues. Out there in the dark, another force was huddled under the trees. Were they looking up to the sky and wondering which faces they'd never see again? Of course they were, they were still human. They were built the same as him, the same as all the men around him, so fragile. And tomorrow they would be fighting, dying side by side. And for what? What was there to fight for?

He closed his eyes, hoping for a few hours of sleep. Green eyes pierced through the darkness behind his eyelids. Were the grapes ripe and ready for pressing? Had she finally caught that yellow tabby they'd chased after for dizzying hours down twisting corridors? Had anyone found the hollow in the tree where they'd tucked smooth stones perfect for skipping? Did she prowl the roofs by night, looking to the sky and wondering, like he often did, if they were tracing out the same map of stars, if he could find his way back by its flirting light? _No_, he thought_, I'm not afraid of dying, just of not coming home_.

* * *

><p>Rome sat in his tent, drinking wine by the light of a single candle. A fire couldn't be risked this close to the enemy. He could feel the nervous energy building in the night like the pressure as a wave grows, before it comes crashing down on the rocks. Across the surging river, he knew they were waiting, wrapped in the cover of the trees. <em>Germania<em>, he thought, _so close_. He moved stiffly in his lorica segmenta, iron strips sliding over joints like scales on a fish. He could still feel the jagged scar along his side where the plates met, a gift from Teutoburg.

He took another sip of the dark wine, but it tasted of blood. He spit it onto the grass and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Germania had to be extinguished, of course he did. No one could break Rome's skin and live. The scar would be his eulogy, speak of his bravery, his foolishness. The man was brave, that much was true. He had stood, outnumbered, hopelessly inferior with his sharpened stick spears and stolen swords, and he had _fought_. He had whirled through lines of shining iron, pushed back the tide with his arctic blue eyes and flashing golden hair falling out of his Suebian knot as he fought, cold and silent like a winter wolf. He had _won, _which was what Rome could not fathom. He had slaughtered three legions of good, strong men, had crushed the standard into the mud, had stood over him, looked down with those cold ice eyes, and had left. He had left. They had searched the whole battlefield for his body, and when Germania had found him, he'd nodded slowly, golden hair falling across his long face, and turned back around.

Rome shuddered. He would find him, would repay him for his gifts. But which must I repay, his scar or my life? He poured another cup of the awful wine and settled in for dawn.


	8. A Promise

**Author's/Historical Note:** I am so, so sorry this has taken so long to update. You've all probably lost interest, and I apologize. Life sucks and gets in the way. Anyways, enough excuses. You can read this afterwards if you don't want spoilers. In 16 AD Rome won a decisive victory at the Battle of the Weser River. There, the Roman commander Germanicus defeated the Germanic force under Arminius, who had engineered the defeat at Teutoburg Forest. This battle avenged Roman honor after Teutoburg Forest, and ended the campaign for the season. Tiberius ended the campaign because of its cost and brought the army back to Rome. I couldn't find a time of year, or even the events of the battle, except that the Romans won and Arminius escaped. The location is even vague, so, I created my own scenario. Also, I wanted to hint at the BFT, so we get a preview of Prussia when he's just a child, like Spain. It would probably make more sense to have the Holy Roman Empire, or Gaul, or anybody else, but I love Prussia and the BFT too much. I hope you can overlook the historical inaccuracy of my character choice. As always, I would LOVE your comments and suggestions!

8. A Promise

When he opened his eyes, Antonio was back in the forest again, curled among the ferns. He tried to focus on the scene before him, the white figure, blindingly bright against the forest. But as the figure swam into focus, it was a perfect statue, beautiful and cold. It was the most exquisite work he'd ever seen, curls falling lightly across her face, lips slightly parted in surprise, right down to the tight weave of her linen tunic. But it was stone, and that was all, perfect marble, frozen, dead. All except the eyes, frighteningly bright in such a pale face. The eyes cried out, stark in animal terror and disbelief. He reached out his hand to brush against the marble skin, to reassure himself that there was no pulse between those veins of stone. The whole world was spinning, reduced to a whorl of green, but she remained frozen in the middle of it, one hand outstretched with a flashing knife pointed right to his heart. The color of the leaves was so bright, so saturated, that he felt sick watching it whirl. Words throbbed in his head like a heartbeat but her lips never moved.

"You don't have to go. You always have a choice. Don't go." He looked down as the world spun, saw the bow in his hand, arrow already notched, saw the blood red fletching. His hands were not his own. Nothing would get them to halt their course.

"Don't go. Don't, no. No." He watched a bright red arrow sprout out of the perfect marble face, heard himself screaming as the world spun in a dervish. The words became a screech, the cawing of a crow. The statue exploded in front of him, the whole world followed.

Antonio shot up in a cold sweat, gasping down air. Every muscle protested as he stood up hurriedly and droplets of dew rolled off of his cape and down his neck. He stared down at his hands, willing his blood to stop pounding in his ears. He looked around hastily, pushing the whirling forest from his mind. His horse sniffed curiously at his face, brushing hot air across his cheeks. Antonio rubbed its nose absentmindedly and looked around the camp. Tents still dotted the hill, but people were already milling through the rows, pulling them down and packing them up painstakingly. Why be so neat when you may never have to unpack it again?

Antonio busied himself with rubbing heat back into his sore muscles and untying the reins of both horses to water them. He washed his face in the stream and tried to push the fog of sleep from his mind. It was only a dream after all. Only a dream. But why were his hands still shaking? He gripped the reins in both hands to quell the tremors. But green eyes burned behind his eyelids.

He was just heading back to the tents when a Legionary strode up to him, grabbing a hold of the reins to stop him.

"Hurry up boy, we attack on the hour. Don't want to get left behind do you?" He smiled and ruffled Antonio's hair before walking away, greaves and metal plate creaking. Antonio watched him go, unable to move. Attack? The thought of war itself had seemed so distant, so alien. He never thought it would come. His horse butted gently at the back of his head, bringing him back to the moment, and he walked them back over to the tent, glad of some course of action he could understand.

He tied up Rome's white stallion and patted it on the neck before pulling his own horse away to his camp. The horse walked away reluctantly, turning its head around to stare back at the white stallion. _Even it is apprehensive, and it doesn't even understand. _He stared down at his kit for a second, mind blank. But, his hands remembered what they were supposed to do, and somehow he found his way into his plate shirt. His shaking fingers buckled his greaves on wrong the first two times, and he had to take a ragged breath and stop for a moment before he could buckle them correctly. Each heartbeat ticked down the time. How many did he even have left?

The tent flap opened behind him and he heard the crunch of feet on stones. He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Rome looking down at him. He smiled thinly up at him.

"Your horse is watered and ready sir. I, I'm just, I'll be ready soon." Rome smiled at him and cocked his head. Antonio hoped he couldn't see his shaking fingers.

"You'll want to tighten up those straps, boy. Any gap could mean your death. Here." He reached down and pulled on a strap by the boy's shoulder until the metal plates were tight against Antonio's side. "There you go. You look almost a proper warrior now, just missing something." He straightened up and unbuckled the scabbard on his hip, holding it out for the boy.

"A sword. You'll be needing this." Antonio took it gingerly from his hands, clutching it to his chest to keep his hands from shaking. "Make me proud, boy. Make her proud. But most importantly, make yourself proud. Do what needs to be done." He pressed his hand to Antonio's cheek once with a sad smile and let it drop to his side. "Only you can decide what needs to be done. All I can do is point you in the right direction." They looked at each other for a moment. "Now make sure to buckle that on tightly, I'll be wanting it back." He turned, and in a flash of red he left Antonio all alone.

Antonio buckled the sword carefully to his hip, pulling the strap as tightly as he could. He climbed into the saddle, reassuring his horse with a pat on the neck. He turned its head around and headed for the edge of camp, the hungrily rushing river, for the army of shadows beyond.

* * *

><p>"It's all your fault, you know." Lovina bent over the smooth surface of the horse trough, peering down at her own distorted reflection. Her face glared up at her, mouth a sideways frown, eyes dark and brooding. She wriggled her toes and extinguished the disapproving look in ripples. "It's your fault you ran away, your fault you took him out of the forest, your fault Rome found the courtyard, your fault that you're all alone again." She hugged her knees.<p>

"You know it's not." Lovina didn't turn around. She could distinguish Francis' soft drawl.

"Go away Francis." She hunched her shoulders. He walked around the trough to look at her.

"It's not your fault they left. Rome left because he has to get rid of the Germanic tribes on our borders. He's trying to keep us safe. He really does love you."

"Funny way of showing it, running away." Francis sighed and shook his head, golden curls bouncing.

"Is that what you're really angry about, or are you upset because Antonio left?" She grimaced up at him and threw a rock into the horse trough, chuckling darkly as it sent a splash of water across his face and tunic.

"I don't care what that idiot does. I'm glad he's gone. He smelled like horse shit anyways." Francis flicked a sopping curl out of his face.

"I just don't know why he took him, and didn't take the rest of us."

"Maybe because you fight like a little girl and you cry if your clothes get dirty," she smirked. She started picking at her fingernails, trying to chip out the dried dirt crusted under them from hours in her secret courtyard clearing out brush and planting new rose bushes.

"It's just, I've been here so much longer, and I do everything he says. I hardly even get a smile for my efforts. And now some wild boy comes charging out of the woods, barely able to speak Latin and unable to write his own name, and suddenly he's sent off to be a hero." She peeked up at him from under her halo of auburn curls. Francis had never seemed bothered by any of that.

"I'd rather be alive than a hero," she mumbled.

"_You_ don't have to be brave and strong. People will always try to protect you. You wouldn't understand; you're a girl." Lovina jumped to her feet.

"What do you mean I wouldn't understand? So, what just because I'm a girl, I'm supposed to sit here and watch everyone leave me? I'm supposed to smile and clean something and let you all go off and get yourselves killed? I'm supposed to go cook dinner while barbarians rape and murder people, and I can't do anything to help anyone? I'm tired of being helpless. I would do _anything_ to lift a sword and kill them all, but all I ever get is a needle or a comb. You don't understand what it's like to watch everyone suffer and never be able to do anything to help." She pushed roughly past him, slamming the stable door behind her, and left him alone, wringing out his tunic on the ground.

* * *

><p>Antonio wheeled the horse around, thin black legs spearing the muddy ground. The horse's eyes were rimmed white in terror, ears pressed flat against its head. Antonio fumbled for the sword at his waist. He could count time in heartbeats, flashes of movement like strikes of lightning. He thought his heart would shake his bones from his body, but it was invigorating. His skin itched to move, to run, to fight. Antonio flicked the reins and dug his heels into the horse's side. It spun on its hind legs, muddy spray showering across his face. He let out a yell and drove the horse forwards, towards what he did not know.<p>

Around him, men were spinning, falling, whirling in a flawless dance. He could hardly gasp down a breath. He heard a fierce inhuman howl that he realized came from his own mouth and laughed. Something whisked by his head, sprouting feathers in the chest of a foot soldier nearby. The man tottered and fell. Then another. The sky was raining long shafts, spearing men to the ground, to trees, to each other. Antonio pulled his short pugia from his belt and swatted at the raining arrows, releasing a satisfied growl at the cracking of wood and explosion of splinters.

He whirled the horse round and round with one hand clutching the reins. The other swung wildly at the skies, flashing lightning striking a flood of steel claws. _This is what it is to face death and laugh_, he thought. And he was laughing, and crying. He beat at the never-ending deluge, his body racked with sobs and the steady swing of his dagger. His vision was clouded with tears. _Oh god, when would it ever stop. Never let it stop. Not now, not when he finally knew what it felt like to be alive. _The horse was whinnying pitifully, or was that the sound of dying men? Antonio couldn't tell, and it felt below him. He was on a separate plane, equal to the hungry iron around him, immortal. He laughed triumphantly over the tears. Nothing could touch him.

He felt something rip into him. All his breath rushed out of him and he was jerked backwards, all feeling gone from his limbs. He was falling, pulling the horse's reins about with his numb fingers, and the ground rushed up towards him.

* * *

><p>Rome roared and swung his sword around him, taking a tribesman in the stomach and sending him flying backwards. Everything around him was a spray of water, shining metal, and infernal cries. Finally, something he could understand. He could lose himself here, lose all his past. He fell into his comfortable rhythm, wasting no movement. Men fell all around him and he hardly even noticed. He was the sea beating up against the rocks. With every man he cut down, another would come, but he would wear them down. He had eternity, and then he would find Him. <em>Germania<em>. Every flash of gold would dissolve into him, every spark of blue. But, so far he hadn't seen him. It didn't matter; there was no rush. They couldn't escape each other.

He twisted his wrist and sent a nice clean cut across a man's jugular, spraying himself with blood. The man crumpled like cloth dropped from a line and Rome turned to his next opponent.

He was met with a cold blue stare under platinum hair. The Suebian knot above his ear was coming undone and strands of pale hair hung across his angular face. He lowered his brows over his frigid glare and charged forwards, raising his thick sword.

Rome barely had time to lift his own sword before they collided and toppled to the ground, both snarling. Germania tried to wrap his legs around Rome's waist to keep him down long enough to deliver a finishing blow, but Rome twisted his body and sent them spiraling across the ground.

"It's been so long, Germania," Rome growled through clenched teeth. He had bit down on his tongue during the impact and now spat out a mouthful of blood. It spattered across Germania's pale face like constellations orbiting two frozen stars. Germania didn't even blink. One corner of his mouth drew up in a lupine snarl.

"You still remember then? I thought we were too far below you." He tried to edge his blade towards Rome's neck, but Rome grabbed his forearm with his left hand and jerked the sword backwards way from himself. They were cocooned in a mesh of screaming men and clashing metal. Legs shuffled around their heads as men fought, oblivious to their leaders struggling on the ground.

"It's over Germania," Rome grunted as Germania drove the sword down again. He caught it with his own blade and sent it sinking into the ground next to his head. It left a shallow cut above his eye, which showered his vision in red. Both men were soaked in sweat and blood, faces covered in grime. They were both breathing heavily, gasping down air. _We're old men,_ Rome thought. _What are we playing at?_ He rolled out from under Germania's next swing, landing in a crouch with his sword raised defensively. "Just give up already. You can't ever win."

"Never," Germania screamed. He jerked a fallen spear out of the ground and thrust it forward, but Rome was out of reach. He grabbed the pole as it rushed by his head and pulled, knocking Germania off balance and sending him tumbling forwards.

"Think of your sons," Rome bellowed over the chaos. He lunged forwards with his own blade, raking Germania's side with a shallow gash. Germania let out a cry but dropped the spear and grabbed the blade with his free hand. He jerked it towards himself, clutching it against his side so Rome was set off balance.

"As if you can take care of your own children. There will be no world for them if I let you win. I'd rather see them _dead_." Blood was pooling over his fingers and his whole body was shaking. "You can't take care of anything. You just conquer it and leave it broken." Rome growled. He drove his blade forwards, but it skidded along the thin mail underneath Germania's dark tunic. Germania wrapped his elbow around Rome's arm, securing it there.

Suddenly they were face to face, close enough that Rome could feel his hot breath on his cheeks. "I will not let you consume everything. This must end." It was barely a whisper. A man fell next to them, choking on his own blood and writhing. They didn't seem to notice.

"Then why didn't you kill me when you had the chance?" The chill in his eyes melted for a second. A crack in the façade. Then, as quickly as it had come, his face was a mask of animal hate again.

"I thought you would be something different. I thought you would be better than the rest of us, end all this fighting. I thought I knew you, because I thought I saw myself in you." He looked away for a second, at the frozen faces of men around them. "I was wrong." He spat out the words. "Or maybe you _are_ just like me, and that's what I hate the most about you, seeing my own hunger and hate reflected." They were so close now that Germania's pale hair ghosted against his face. The softness of its touch was so alien there, surrounded by death. Rome shivered.

"So you would sacrifice all of them for that, because you fear what you might become? How selfish of you." Rome fumbled for the dagger at his waist with fingers slippery with blood.

"And it is not selfish of you to conquer and conquer, until the whole world is yours, and yet never look back to your children?"

"I had to leave them. I would only hurt them by staying." He had the dagger in his hand now.

"You'd hurt them, or does it hurt you to see them? You see her everywhere don't you? You're just running away. She's dead, Rome. Let her go." Rome snarled holding the dagger up.

"Don't you ever talk about her. You don't understand."

"You made mistakes, but your children shouldn't suffer for it. My children shouldn't suffer for it." Rome raised the dagger higher with a sharp intake of breath, willing himself to let it fall. He let his breath fall and so did the dagger, dropping harmlessly into the mud.

"Go," he muttered, pushing himself off of Germania.

"What?"

"Go," he screamed. "Your men can't win here. Take your boy and go before I come to my senses and cut you down." Germania got shakily to his feet. Blood dripped off of his fingers onto the muddy ground. He stared at him from narrowed eyes, but Rome couldn't bear to look at him. He nodded once and turned.

"We're even now," he mumbled. "Next time we meet will be our last, won't it?" Rome grunted in agreement, but by the time he raised his head, Germania was gone.

* * *

><p>Antonio awoke surrounded by a dull throbbing pain. He lay with his eyes closed, trying to remember where he was. He could feel the cold brush of water along his legs and fingertips. His fingers fluttered once, twice as he tried to move. His body seemed so far away. He felt his fingers dig into the coarse sand of the riverbank, anchoring him to consciousness. His eyes felt too heavy to open, but his fingers traced clumsily along the lines of his plate. Several of the iron plates were bent inwards and twisted around something. He could feel something warm and wet coating the metal but refused to look. As his head cleared, he remembered the hissing rush of arrows flying round his head, the force of impact, falling. He groaned as he tried to pull the arrowhead from his side without looking, succeeding only in twisting the metal plates into his skin. He felt so damn helpless.<p>

He tried to roll over out of the parched sunlight, but couldn't move his legs. There was a crushing pressure on his body which, when he gave a half-hearted attempt to sit up, resolved into a sharp pain. His leg was twisted awkwardly underneath him, and he would rip it from the joint trying to move. He dropped his head back to the sand, too tired to open his eyes and see what was going on.

Hopefully he would die quickly, rather than from heat stroke, hunger, or worst of all, the scavengers who trailed after battles. He was so tired. It would be so easy to just slip, to fall into the comforting darkness and never get up again. What did he have to fight for anyways? None of this mattered. It wasn't his fight in the first place. He could so easily just lose; no one would blame him for that. No one would even remember him, just another lump of meat on the ground.

No, not no one. He thought about the sleepless nights spent by ghosts of embers with a dull paring knife, working away at a fragment of bone. Long hours of squinting, cursing, and the subsequent sucking on bleeding fingers had whittled it down to the rough outline of a Roman eagle. Something to show her he hadn't forgotten, some tangible thing to bring back since there was so much of him to lose along the way. He could just imagine the look on her face as she scrunched up her eyes, turning it around in her hands and trying to make some sense of the jumbled mess. No mumbled gratitude for his time, for the gift, for coming back at all. She'd just lift one eyebrow, jab the thing at him like a sword held out in a defensive parry and she'd growl,

"This is what you spent the last half a year doing while we were trying to keep the house running? What the hell is this supposed to be anyways?" He would have laughed if breathing didn't hurt so much. It just wasn't fair. He had made a promise, one that he couldn't keep. And now whenever she thought of him, if she ever thought of him, she'd think of how he'd lied. How he'd left her all alone and never come back. She'd never know. If only he could just move, at least sit up. That would be a start. But he was so tired and his chest felt so heavy. Breathing itself was a monumental effort, as if a huge weight was pressing on his lungs.

He dropped his head to the side, feeling the cool bank of the river against the edge of his face. He was wavering on the edge of consciousness again when he felt a tug at his throat. Oh, god, he thought, the wolves have come already.

But the thing pulled again, tugging at the string around his neck. Antonio groaned. The stupid animals couldn't even wait until he was properly dead? And now they were going around trying to ruin the thing he'd worked on for months? It was almost enough to make him want to sit up and fight. If only it was that easy. He opened his mouth to protest and let out a strangled gurgle of a cry. The best he could manage. The thing paused for a second and jerked again at his neck, harder. The string bit into his skin and Antonio forced his eyes open. That was when he screamed.

Staring down at him was a pair of red eyes framed in white: a white fringe of bangs over an impossibly pale face. The eyes were even surrounded by a row of white lashes. It was a demon, Antonio was sure. He must be in Hell. He tried to scramble away on his elbows, but there was still a weight across his legs and he screamed again at the pain. The thing leaned back and mumbled something that almost made sense.

"Oh, a live one." It took a moment for the sounds to form meaning. Antonio paused long enough to look around him before trying once again to push himself away from the unholy creature. It seemed almost like a boy, pale and covered in blood. But it must be a demon, there was no other way to explain it.

"That isn't going to work you know," the demon piped up. "You're stuck real good." It gestured down at a huge dark lump that Antonio hadn't noticed. He stopped his struggling and looked right in front of him. A huge eye rimmed in white stared blankly up at him and a long tongue lolled out of a frothy mouth, its neck arching impossibly back.

"That was a good horse there. It's why I came over. Horses are practically worth their weight in gold where I come from. But you had to go and get it killed," the demon scolded at Antonio. "You're an idiot you know, to be riding a horse around here. If it didn't turn an ankle on the rocky ground, it made you an easy target for our archers." He jabbed his chest proudly. Antonio blinked back sweat and tried to make sense of the words. His archers? Demons didn't need armies.

"What are you?" Antonio croaked before wincing at the pressure on his chest. The demon boy leaned over the horse carcass until his breath was hot across Antonio's cheeks.

"That's an interesting way of phrasing the question. I don't know if I can answer that." He gave a half smile. "But I can tell you what I'm called." He jabbed at his chest again, lifting one corner of his mouth in a smirk. "I'm Gilbert Bielshmidt, son of Germania, bravest warrior of all the Germanic tribes. I figure you should at least know the name of the one who's going to kill you." He pressed a foot down on the horse's back and Antonio grunted.

"Kill me? What did I ever do to you?" Antonio struggled under the horse, trying to lift it up high enough to slip his legs out, but it was just too heavy.

"You're a Roman, aren't you? That's reason enough. Your people are trying to kill my people." He jabbed a small dagger at Antonio's face, barely missing his forehead, and then at his own stomach as he spoke. Antonio was transfixed by the dagger's movement. "It's only natural. You'd kill me if you got the chance." He leaned over and smiled down at the trapped boy. Antonio wriggled half-heartedly. His chest was throbbing where the arrowhead dug into his flesh.

"You can take my armor, everything I have, but you can't kill me." The pale boy cocked his head to the side.

"Making demands, are we? Well, first off, I couldn't even get it off you, with the stupid horse in the way. That's why I was trying to pull off this thing." He prodded the bone eagle with the tip of his knife. "I was going to give it to my brother as a souvenir. And second, even if I did help you out from under that horse, who's to say you won't just kill me when my back's turned? Why should I help you anyways?"

"I made a promise. I promised I'd go home. I'll do anything to keep that promise. And I'll make one to you as well. I promise I won't kill you if you help me out from under this horse." They looked at each other for a second, each unable to blink. Gilbert shook his head with a chuckle.

"I must be crazy." He let a lopsided smile spread across his face. "or maybe I just want a story to tell my brother when I get home." He held out his hand. "And you'll give me whatever I want once I help you, right kid?" Antonio grasped his hand and shook it.

"Yes, I promise, but my name's not kid, it's Antonio. Now come on, I can't breathe." Gilbert smiled down at him again and jumped off the back of the horse, landing next to Antonio's head.

"If we both push, we can just roll it off you into the water. Come on, Antonio." He leaned down and dug his hands underneath the horse's side and Antonio pushed up, bracing his elbows against the sand. They pushed until their faces were bright red and Antonio thought his arms would break, but slowly the horse flopped over. Antonio jerked his legs back as the horse rolled, curling them under him to get them out from under the carcass.

The horse slumped into the river with a splash and the two boys let out a whoop, smiling at each other. Antonio tried to rub feeling back into his legs as Gilbert shook out his sore shoulders. Gilbert reached down a hand and pulled him shakily to his feet, clapping him across the back. Antonio gave him a shy smile.

"Thank you, Gilbert." He started to unbuckle the straps on his armor. "Here you take this."

"No," Gilbert held up a hand. "That's not what I wanted." He pointed to the string around Antonio's neck. "I want that. I want to capture my own Roman eagle, even if it does look like an arthritic chicken." Antonio wrapped his hand around the bone shard.

"No, really, this is worthless. I was just making it for a friend I left at home. Please take the armor, or the horse's saddle, or anything else."

"Why do you need that little thing so much?" Antonio took a breath. He could hand it over without a question or he could explain it all. It was just a shard of bone, but for some reason, he felt like he needed to give it to her, to show that he hadn't forgotten.

"Please, I need to give it to her. I left her there all alone, after she'd saved me from the forest and the legionaries. She may be sullen and ornery and never smiles and she has a stupid little curl on the top of her head that never stays down, and she can curse a sailor blue but she gave me a home, and a friend, and I just left her there all alone. She's always alone, and I have to show her I haven't forgotten. So here, take this instead." He slipped the plate shirt off his shoulders, crying out as the plates pulled out the arrowhead in his side. It hadn't gone in very deep, just stuck between the plates with just the tip wedged in his flesh, but pulling off the shirt had ripped it from his side. He dropped the shirt with a clatter at Gilbert's feet.

"I really don't want it. You got it all bloody anyways. I thought my brother would like the eagle." They heard a commotion behind them and saw a group of legionaries slogging up the river, swords shining red in their hands. One called out.

"Hold on boy, we'll come finish that one off. The battle's all over anyways. We're just looking for that demon Germania and his whelp." Gilbert froze, his red eyes wide. Antonio looked between him and the group of legionaries, glinting like metal men in the fading light. _You'll know what needs to be done._ He sighed and picked up the sword which had fallen beside him. Gilbert backed away slowly, eyes wide. He shook his head slowly, his mouth open and gasping.

Antonio lowered his head and slipped the blade under the string of the necklace, slitting it cleanly off of his neck. He pressed the eagle into Gilbert's hand and shoved him on the shoulder.

"A promise is a promise. Run." Gilbert looked at him, uncomprehending for a second. Antonio nudged him in the ribs until he stumbled forwards towards the woods. "Go, run." Gilbert took off for the trees, turning around when he reached the shadows of their branches. He waved at him, a strange smile on his face. Antonio could see something swing from a string clutched in his hand.

"One day I'll find you again. Maybe then I can have it back," he screamed out, but by then the pale boy was already gone.


	9. Gifts

**Author's Note:** I just wanted to show a little vignette from Germania's family, when he and Gilbert return home, to show the differences between his and Rome's family. He seems much colder than Rome, but I think he is a much better father, even though the circumstances for his family are so much harsher. And I think Prussia deserves a lot of credit for helping raise his brother. He had to grow up very fast, and I think he wants to protect his little brother from that. Also, I think Germany is a sucker for fairy tales (i.e. Grimm's Fairy tales and all that). I think Prussia was always making up outrageous stories to tell him, and fairy tales always remind him of his brother. So, this was a product of that headcanon, and is also my little hint at why HRE/Germany is obsessed with Rome. The eagle is also a little homage to Gilbird, since I don't think he'll find a way into this story (too much of a stretch?). Don't worry, next chapter will get back to Antonio and Lovina, I promise.

9. Gifts

Germania crashed through the underbrush. He had left his men bleeding and broken on the banks of the river. He had run, had left them. He had failed. The surging waters would wash the blood away, but the shame stained deeper. He hacked aside branches, too upset to think about the noise his movements made. If they were coming for him, let them come. He had something else to search for.

He searched for a flash of white in the deep green of the forest. He looked for a ghost. For all he knew, the boy was lying still on the banks of the river, white slowly giving way to red. He couldn't fail him too. The boy had followed him so willingly, believed in him so deeply. That wide smile, the easy laugh of his little brother, they were the only things left to him now. They were all that mattered, and he would lose them too. He let out an animal cry and slashed at a branch.

He would gladly have painted that river red for them, if it would mean keeping them out of this fight, but instead he had brought Gilbert right into it. He should have kept him closer. He should never have come at all. How could he have thought he could protect the boy, when in the pit of his stomach he knew he really only wanted revenge? He had sacrificed his son for revenge, and even that he had failed.

Tears stung his eyes as he hacked away at a tree trunk. Each swipe reverberated up his arm until his whole body was numb, but still he sliced away, crying out with every swing. _Failure. Loss. Weak._

He felt the muscles of his back spasm and doubled over, clutching the sword with both hands. _Weak. So weak._ His face was burning, tears and sweat racing down his neck. How could he lose to him? How could he accept defeat and run with his life while his son lay gasping for breath somewhere on that rocky riverbank?

What was he left with now? Cold steel and failure. With a roar, he hurled the useless sword into the underbrush. There, now he had nothing. His head was ringing, and for the first time since leaving the battlefield, he realized how utterly alone he was.

He had lost the only thing that really mattered. He had lost the only thing that had ever believed in him, that had trusted him unconditionally since he had found him thin and frail and pale as a ghost, left in the woods to die because of his frightening red eyes. He had promised then, as the little boy had clutched with tiny fingers to his cloak, that he would protect him from anything: from the people who spat at him as he passed by, from the numbing frosts of winter, from the might of Rome himself. And he had failed. He'd given it all up for foolish pride.

"Vati?" the voice was barely a whisper, but Germania shot up. He felt a soft touch on his back and turned around. The pale face seemed so bright in the dark forest. For once the red eyes were lowered, almost shy. Gilbert held out his hands, which were clutched around Germania's discarded sword.

For a second Germania was frozen, unsure what to do. The boy looked so shaken, his confident façade broken. Instead he was confronted with another child through those cracks, a child bruised and broken from hissed slurs and thrown rocks, a boy shunned and shattered, holding out his hands for comfort. He pushed the sword forwards again, urging Germania to take it, to show him that he was still strong, could still protect him. Germania pushed the sword aside and it clattered to the ground.

Gilbert's hands fell to his side and he lowered his eyes. But Germania wrapped his arms around Gilbert's shoulders and drew him into a hug. Gilbert stiffened, unused to such shows of affection.

"No, Gilbert," he whispered down to the boy. "We're done fighting." He brushed hair out of the boy's face with both hands, reassuring himself that the boy really was there. Gilbert's chin trembled once, but he bit down on his lower lip.

"I lost, Vati. I'm sorry. I failed." He rubbed at his face with a fist, which still clutched the string of a necklace. Germania gently clasped the fist in his hand and pulled it away from Gilbert's face.

"You didn't lose, Gilbert. You lived. And that's so much more."

"Some Roman kid saved me. I didn't even fight them." Germania squatted down to Gilbert's height and looked him in his crimson eyes. He eased open Gilbert's clenched fingers and tapped the yellowing bone eagle in his palm.

"You see this. This is a gift, just like your life Gilbert. When you are given gifts, you can't just throw them away. Like you," he patted Gilbert's cheek, which was smeared with dirt. "You are one of the greatest gifts I was given. And here I was ready to throw it away." Gilbert cocked his head to the side, confused.

"We can take and take Gilbert, but it is the things given freely that are worth the most to us. He gave you your life. You can't just turn around and throw it into the first lost cause you come across."

"But I lost."

"But you lived. The fight will go on." He closed Gilbert's fist around the eagle again. "For me, for you, for that boy who gave this to you. We will keep on fighting. You might even see him again, and give him a gift of your own. But until then, let's go home. Your brother must be worried."

He made to stand up, but Gilbert threw his arms around his neck, burying his face in Germania's long blonde hair like he used to when he came home crying so long ago. Germania patted his pale hair, enveloping him in a stiff hug until Gilbert's shaking subsided. Then wordlessly, they got to their feet. Germania gently slipped his hand around Gilbert's, and they walked away, leaving his sword on the forest floor to rust.

* * *

><p>"Vater, Gil. You're home." Germania flinched as a young boy crashed into his legs with a hug. Every muscle and joint was screaming at him but he looked down at the little boy who pressed his face into the rough fabric of his tunic. The ice in his eyes melted, and he rubbed the boy's shaggy blonde hair with a hand wrapped in bandages. A small smile crept across his hard face. Next to him, Gilbert grabbed the boy around the waist and tossed him, squealing, into the air. He wrapped his small arms around Gilbert's neck when he caught him, showing a gap toothed smile.<p>

"Look, you're getting so big and fierce. How'd you lose that, biting a bear?" The boy smiled up at him, wiggling his tongue through the hole. He wrapped his arms around his brother's neck again, resting his chubby cheek against his shoulder.

"I'm so glad you're home. I thought you'd just leave me here all alone."

"What, were you worried about us bruder, the most vicious warriors of all the Germanic tribes?" He made an animal snarl and snapped his teeth at the nose of the little boy, who giggled and batted his face away. Germania smiled to himself. Gilbert always knew how to cheer up his little brother, even if he himself was suffering.

"It's just, I heard you lost." The small smile disappeared from Germania's face as he saw the fear in the young boy's eyes. Gilbert cocked his head to the side and walked over to a smoking fire. He set the boy down on a log and leaned down next to him. He gave a jerk to a bit of twine wrapped around his neck and held out his hand.

"How'd I get this then, if I'd lost? Go on, take it." He opened his fingers and the boy plucked the little eagle carefully out of his palm. Gilbert smiled at his wide-eyed curiosity, the firelight playing in his own red eyes. "I took that off a Roman boy who was going to give it to the Roman princess herself." The boy gave him a sideways frown.

"They don't have princesses."

Oh hush." He swatted the criticism away with a wave of his hand and continued. "He told me that he was once a monster that lived in the forest, turned by a witch into a lion that eats hunters." He placed two fingers on either side of his mouth like fangs and growled, the firelight and shadow dancing strangely over his pale face. "And one day, this princess was riding through the woods when a pack of wolves, sent by Winter himself and covered in hoarfrost, burst out of the brush and attacked her. They chased her through the trees until she fell from her horse, and when she woke, she was all alone in the forest. She wandered for days, for weeks maybe, following the chittering little birds who told her what to eat and where to sleep."

"You can't eat the berries birds eat, they'll kill you." Gilbert glared at him and sighed. Germania busied himself with skinning a rabbit they had managed to snare.

"They were magic birds, all right, Ludwig? Now please, will you just listen?" Gilbert cleared his throat. "So, meanwhile the emperor had sent out a whole legion to look for her, but they all got lost in the darkness of the forest or were eaten by the wolves of Winter. And the princess wandered until she came to a little hut in the woods where an evil witch lived who hated the emperor. The princess said that she was lost and very hungry and the witch took her in and promised to take her home. But, she cast a spell over the princess so she could never smile and switched her soul with that of one of the little birds. So, now she has a little curl on the top of her head like a quail, and she is always afraid like the flighty little birds of the forest, and she looks to the sky but can't fly, so her heart breaks."

Germania turned the meat on the spit over the sputtering fire, pretending not to listen. He watched the awed glow in Ludwig's face, Gilbert's easy smile, his warm laugh, the way he tousled his younger brother's hair and tickled him along his sides until he fell over laughing. Of course he would fight to protect that. He would die for that, so they could laugh and smile, so they could have everything he never could. He looked away down to the twisting tongues of flame and turned the spit again. He would protect them, even if that meant having to leave them.

"Where's the lion boy in all of this?" Ludwig asked his brother.

"I was just getting to that, but you had to interrupt me. Now, some of the legionaries who were lost in the forest came upon him one day as he was chasing down a wild boar, and they tried to kill him. He ran, and hid away in a grove of magical ferns. But, the princess, who had escaped the witch's hovel through an open window, came upon him first. At first she was afraid and wanted to flee, but she found him sleeping curled among the ferns, and he looked just like a boy, lost and alone just like her. She sang out to the birds of the forest, asking them what he was, and he awoke hearing the birdsong. She saw his bright green eyes, like the forest itself, and he held out his hand to touch her, because he thought he was dreaming. She was terrified, poised for flight, but of course she couldn't fly. But then the legionaries burst out of the forest, and drew their swords to cut him down. They urged the princess to get away from the monster and let them dispose of him but she stepped in front of their swords and made them stand down.

"They brought him back to the capital in chains, blaming him for stealing her away. She tried to tell them about the witch, but every time she tried to speak the truth, the only thing that came out was birdsong. The witch had cursed them both so that she cannot break the spell until she smiles, and he cannot break the spell until someone says they love him. But, every time she tries to speak to him, she sings like a little bird or caws like an angry crow, and he just growls like a lion.

"And now, the emperor has taken him along to fight us because he thinks he is a terrible beast who can tear men in half. But, I found him trapped under a horse and freed him in exchange for that, an eagle he'd carved to give to her since they couldn't speak." Gilbert took a breath and smiled. Ludwig just looked down at the shard of bone in his hands. "Maybe, Ludwig, if you find the princess and give that to her, it'll make her smile, and the spell will be broken and you two can live together forever."

"And we can stop all this fighting, right? You and Vater won't ever have to go away again? Everyone can just be happy." Ludwig clutched the eagle to his chest and Gilbert ruffled his hair with a sideways smile.

"Something like that."

* * *

><p>Germania tucked the blanket underneath Ludwig's chin and the boy sighed in his sleep. He brushed a lock of golden hair out of the boy's face and turned to his elder son. The fire had died down to coals and he could barely see him in the dark, just a pale smudge against the night.<p>

"I thought I told you not to throw away gifts, Gilbert. That was a gift of your life, it protected you." Gilbert looked at him over the coals, red eyes setting light to his pale fringe of bangs.

"And now it will protect him. I should be able to protect myself, Vati, and right now he needs it more." Gilbert looked out at the trail of smoke strangling the stars. "I don't ever want him to be afraid again. Not like I was always afraid." He stared back at Germania again, a dark look spreading over his face. "I want him to be more than all of us. I want him to be great."

"Why do you constantly fill his head with lies, Gilbert, telling him impossible stories like the one about your eagle charm? Nothing good will come of it." Gilbert shrugged his shoulders and poked the cinders with the end of a stick.

"It's not a lie. I just made the truth more beautiful. He'll find out soon how ugly life is. Why can't it stay beautiful just a little longer?"


	10. Heroes and Lies

**Author's Note:** Sorry this has been a while coming up. We're back onto the main story again. I guess the plot bunny has run off. Things are getting a little crazy, but I swear we're going to skip ahead a little soon. People are getting antsy :3. Sorry, the chapter is kind of long.

10. Heroes and Lies

Antonio practically fell into the tent. He wasn't pushed, or dragged away bound. Maybe that would have been easier. Instead, after the soldiers watched the pale boy disappear into the woods, they had merely grumbled, "come on," and turned around without even seeing if he followed.

Antonio stumbled along behind them, trying not to stare at the bodies like so many fallen branches after a storm. Soldiers were picking through the dead, unbuckling bits of armor and collecting helmets and weapons. He saw a soldier hack off a man's arm to get better access to his mail shirt. Another picked up a helmet and threw it back down when he realized the head was still inside.

He could hear the screams of dying men, or carrion crows, but the difference didn't matter. These were men who had fought, had died for Rome, for those people they had left behind. And what had he done? He had failed everyone. His limbs felt too heavy, his head too sluggish. He wanted to drop the heavy sword on the riverbank, but he clutched it tight to his chest. He had promised to return it, and he couldn't fail that too. Him and his stupid promises.

He nearly collapsed to the floor of the tent, but no one seemed to notice his exhaustion. Nobody seemed to notice him at all. Rome was surrounded by doctors and commanders like a horse covered in flies in the heat of summer. A surgeon was poking at a long gash across his forehead with a bloody rag and another was trying to unbuckle the straps of his heavy lorica segmenta. But he shook uncontrollably every time Rome bellowed out orders to the soldiers standing uneasily around him. One of the commanders leaned in closer to speak to him and Rome shot to his feet, scattering the entourage around him.

"He's gone, all right? They're both gone," he roared. "And I will not send men into that forest to track them down. That's what they want, to pick us off with their bows. We're not going after them, and that is final, now go." Men scampered for the tent flap in a clatter of metal. "And stop your poking," he grumbled at the doctor cleaning his forehead, swatting the bloody rag away. "You're giving me a damn headache."

The man practically ran out of the tent, and then Antonio and Rome were alone. Antonio had backed up against the corner in the confusion and was vainly hoping he could blend in with the dirty fabric.

Rome ran a hand wearily over his face and cursed when it came away bloody. He examined a map, crumpled it, and threw it to the ground, then hurriedly picked it up again, smoothing it with dirty hands. Antonio was tempted to just turn and leave. He wouldn't be noticed in all of the confusion. Apparently winning the battle didn't finish the work. That's when it all began.

"You, boy." Antonio started. He clutched the sword tighter and stepped forward. He wouldn't cower in front of this man. "Well, come on. I have other things I need to do." Rome sighed and rubbed the back of his neck as Antonio floundered forwards. He saw the sword in Antonio's grasp and grabbed it from his hands. He pulled it from its sheath and turned it about in the light.

"Do you remember what I told you when I gave this to you?"

"Yes, sir. It was only this morning." Antonio instantly regretted his quick tongue, but Rome merely shot him a glance and continued.

"I told you to do what needed to be done. Well did you?" Antonio fiddled with the straps of his armor, unable to answer. "Did you capture the son of Germania when you had the chance? Did you use this sword to uphold the honor of Rome?" Antonio looked up at him through a mess of bangs. It was coming now, but he wouldn't be cowed. He took a deep breath.

"No, I upheld my own honor." He balled his fists up at his side, ready for Rome's bellowed curses, or the rough hands of guards, or even a cold blade. Rome just sighed again. "I made a promise, and I kept it. If you're going to kill me as a traitor fine, but at least I'll die with honor." Rome turned the sword in his hands again, looking down the length of it, turning it so it caught the dim light.

"Honor is a dangerous thing boy. It will get you into almost as much trouble as love, and you seem bent on hurling yourself into both. I used to think I had honor, until I looked into the ice cold eyes of a man I deemed unworthy of dulling my blade on. He had more honor and more courage than I ever had. I had the world, and he had wooden spears and stolen armor and something to protect. Yet, even with our unmatched strengths, he was still fighting. I had love and I had honor, and I lost both. Now all I have is land, land and armies and blood on my hands." He paused for a moment, eyes shadowed by his dark curls.

"Sometimes I wish he'd won. Then I could stop pretending I was a good man." He smiled down at Antonio. "I was honorable today though. I let him free when I could have ended it all. I repaid my debt and now we're equal. I can't tell anyone about that though. No one will know. But I want _you_ to know. I see so much of myself in you, and I just need someone to know the truth. The rest of the world can think me cruel and hard, but you will know. I'm not hard, I'm broken. I'm ragged. I'm fraying.

"But you, you can be better. You have to be better. You can either be all I never was, or you can fall. You'll see." Antonio wanted to run. But Rome kept talking. He wanted to pretend he'd never heard any of this, never seen the strongest man he'd ever known weak and rambling. Mostly, he didn't want to be compared to him, to that. Rome rebuckled the sword to his belt and patted Antonio on the cheek. Antonio froze from the touch.

"We'll go out there now. We'll go home, and pretend we're strong won't we? Everyone will think we're strong, and if they think we are then we must be, right? If they think we're heroes then we can't tell them the truth. Everyone needs a hero, even if it's all a lie. Even if the lie's killing us."

* * *

><p>"They're coming," Lovina heard someone scream from the other side of the villa. Even in her isolated courtyard she could hear the commotion as servants bustled through the house, preparing food and bedding, and cleaning up. She sat back on her heels, wiping a dirt covered hand across her forehead. She spent most of her day in the courtyard now, planting rose bushes and keeping the mosaic floor clean. She'd even patched up the walls and cleared out the heap of broken pottery.<p>

She rang her hands in her lap. Somehow she was unable to stand, and it had nothing to do with how long she'd been bent over the flowers. They were coming home. Faces would flow by in the hundreds, empty and hard, wind beaten and tired, and she'd have to sift through them all looking for one.

And what if it wasn't there? What if all the faces passed and she didn't see it, so she'd run down the line again, searching, trying to pin a glimpse of green or a shock of messy hair. Every face would bring new disappointment, until the tears would blur her vision and she couldn't tell one from the next. Or what if it _was_ there, riding triumphantly, too far away for her to ever reach, proud and fierce? What if it only belonged in the shining armor and wouldn't return to the sprawling vineyards?

She smashed her eyes closed, listening to the roar of the column coming in. Half the noise was from the servants, she knew, cheering the oncoming rush of shining metal and crimson. She should be there. She should run up to her Nonno with her little brother, have him lift her up, laughing in a tight hug. She should be there smiling with the rest. She couldn't move.

* * *

><p>Antonio steered his horse down the column. They had been riding for weeks again, and he was so accustomed to the rocking gait of horseback and the passing of trees that he didn't realize they were near the villa until he was practically at the door. At the sight of the familiar buildings and sprawling vineyards he almost turned the horse back around. He couldn't return like this, a lie. And what if she didn't care anymore? He'd been gone almost a whole year now. She could have found another stable boy to plant flowers and chase after lizards with. She could have found some scullion to share the heel of the fresh bread she stole from under the baker's nose.<p>

The other soldiers waved cheerfully at the servants as they passed, clapping each other on the back for making it home, with a victory no less. Antonio just flicked the reins of his horse and scanned the crowd. He saw little Feli clutching at the hem of Francis' tunic. Francis was trying to seem uninterested, scanning over the soldiers with a bored little pout. None of them seemed to recognize him.

He turned the horse's head, trying to hold still long enough for a good look at the crowd. Of course she was going to be here. She had to be here, to see her grandfather at least. But all of the faces were wrong. He looked along the roof, sure she would be huddled among her nest of clay tiles, just as he'd left her. That would be appropriate, to have her hidden among the clouds for a whole year, or sitting motionless like a statue until he returned, frozen like something out of a story.

The roof was empty, even of birds. Antonio was pulled along by the crowd, no longer caring which direction he was pushed in. His promise had been kept. He'd come home, and after all that, he had nothing.

* * *

><p>Lovina listened until the rush of the crowd had died down. Only then could she bring herself to move. She got stiffly to her feet, her head rushing with the sudden movement. She took the long way around the house, hoping to avoid as many people as possible. The roof would have been quicker, but she felt shaky and tired, and was like enough to topple off. She turned a corner but ducked behind a rain barrel when she heard Francis' drawl.<p>

"So, you're some big war hero now, aren't you Antonio?" Lovina froze.

"Hmm," she heard someone mumble. She was tempted to peak her head over the barrel, or to storm angrily by them to get their attention, but she just wrapped her arms around her legs.

"How many men did you kill, five, six?"

"Right, yeah. It's just you haven't happened to see, oh never mind. Look, I have to stable the horse. All right Francis?" She heard the clicking of hooves on packed dirt and Francis' whispered comment about how the war had gone to his head, and how rude of him. She waited a few minutes more to catch her breath then slipped from behind the barrel and raced for her room.

* * *

><p>Lovina slammed the door closed behind her and slid down the frame. She didn't know what to feel, so she felt everything. The initial giddiness at their return had given way to dismay. She'd heard what he said, how he'd brushed Francis off as if he barely knew him. He'd no longer be the stable boy from the woods, content with lazy summer days hiding under the shade of the grape vines. He'd be off acting the hero, being everything Rome wanted, seeing the world. And she'd be all alone again.<p>

The dismay turned into anger, mostly at herself for being so upset. What did he even matter? What had she done, before she knew him, when Rome went away? She'd gone on. She was used to the solitude, hiding in the quietest parts of the villa so she wouldn't have to talk to anyone. Nobody had ever taken notice of her.

So, when he arrived, she'd just pushed him away, bristling and cursing. But, he'd always come back. He'd seen her, not the mud on her face or her messy curls or whatever task she'd tried and failed. He'd seen _her_. That was why she couldn't bring herself to watch the column coming in. Because, even more than not seeing him there, she was terrified of watching his eyes just pass over her, through her, like all the others' did.

He had asked her, so long ago it seemed, why she hadn't left him in the forest. It was silly and childish, but when she saw how he looked up at her, focusing solely on her even with his eyes still blurry from sleep, she couldn't run. She had always lived on the fringe, skirting around the edges of family and friendship. It was like she lived on a separate plane, alone. And with one glance, he had cut through the haze she wrapped herself in. He was the most real thing she'd ever seen.

There was a knock on the door and her head shot up from her knees. She didn't want to see anyone. She pressed her back against the door, but it opened anyways, scooting her along the floor until she bumped into the wall. She peeked around the edge of the door.

"What are you doing down there Lovina?" Rome asked. Lovina clambered to her feet, head down. Well, who had she been expecting anyways?

"I, I was,"

"Why didn't you come to see the column ride in? Your brother was there."

"I was in the courtyard. I just finished transplanting the rose bushes and."

"You are a child of Rome and you shouldn't be walking around covered in dirt. Why don't you leave that to one of the servants?" He pulled a tightly wrapped piece of fabric out of his tunic and held it out. He glanced disapprovingly at the dirt on her palms and she wiped it off on her sides before he handed it to her. She held one end and unraveled the rest, watching it soak up the oily evening light. The scarf shimmered, crimson silk dancing as she ran it between her fingers.

"Now you can start acting like your station befits you. You don't need to dig around in the dirt Lovina. Now, clean up and come down to dinner." He closed the door softly behind him.

Lovina walked over to a shallow brass bowl against the wall that was always filled with water. She pulled her hair back from her face and glanced down into the distorted surface. All she could see was the grubby face of a little girl, her eyes too big for her face, her eyebrows fixed in a grumpy pout. She was still pale, with a peeling sunburn across her nose, and her collarbones stuck out starkly against the curve of her round face. That wasn't the face of a child of Rome, it was a common servant's face, utterly ordinary, utterly forgettable.

She splashed water across her cheeks to wipe off the dirt and destroy the image in the water. Her hand brushed the silk scarf. It slipped like water between her fingers. Lovina leaned against the windowsill, rubbing it between the pads of her fingers. It had no place being in her possession.

Already it had a set of dirty fingerprints marring the rich crimson. It belonged to a world completely separate from her, one of delicate and soft-spoken women. It wasn't fit for hands like hers, covered in cuts from thorns with dirt ground under her fingernails. And he had looked unapprovingly as he held it out to her. He understood she had no place even touching it.

Lovina pulled the wisp of fabric taught between two hands. So he came home with gifts, like he'd been off in town buying food for the pantry, not killing people. That was probably where he'd got it, too. He probably realized he hadn't thought of her at all and bought it on the way home to show he cared. Well, she didn't. She pulled the fabric tighter, wrapping it around her hands until it dug into her palms.

What, like some scrap of cloth would make up for all the years he'd left her alone, all the smiles he'd never given? It couldn't make up for all the heavy sighs, and reprimands, and words whispered behind closed doors that she'd overheard as she crouched clutching her knees against the door time she heard a whisper now she thought it was about her; it was always her fault. She didn't need this, this stupid piece of cloth. She twisted again and heard the angry rip of cloth accompanied by a release of the pressure about her palms. She opened her hands reflexively and one half of the scarf wisped away with the finger of autumn wind.

"No, no, no," she cried out, fingers stretching out the window. He'd picked it out especially for her. He'd thought of her. And she had ruined that too. She leaned out of the window. Her fingers brushed at cloth as her feet left the floor, and she fell onto the roof, clutching the scarf to her chest.

She tumbled across the roof, scraping her arm and face against the rough tiles. She grabbed at the edge of the roof, slowing her fall, before dropping to the ground below. Luckily there was a pile of rotting vegetables below, since they were above the kitchen, and she rolled mostly unharmed, onto the gravel courtyard. Lovina lay sprawled on the ground, too shocked to move. Her face was pressed into the gravel.

Everything was wrong. Rome was home, they'd even won, but she'd ruined his present. She was such a selfish, stupid, angry child. And Antonio was home too, but she hadn't even gone to see him. And now he wouldn't need to talk to her again. He was a hero and a warrior. He was everything Rome wanted, and now neither of them would ever need her again. She rubbed a fist over her eyes, feeling the caress of the scarf against her cheek. It only smeared half-rotten carrot across her face.

She got unsteadily to her feet. The pain was just setting in through her arm and cheek. She hobbled, sore, over to the stable to wash off her face. She couldn't go back inside looking like this, and she couldn't bring herself to crawl across the roofs back into her room. Everyone would be inside enjoying themselves, so she didn't have to worry about the stable boys seeing her covered in grime. She opened the latch with her skinned hand but hurriedly dropped it with a wince, and pushed the door open with her hip.

There was a bucket against the wall and she bent over it, trying to wash out as much of the gravel and muck embedded in her palm as she could. She heard hay rustle behind her and a half-hearted murmur.

"Lovi?" She shot around, almost tumbling into the bucket of water. She grabbed the rim to keep from falling. Antonio was curled up in the corner, almost lost under a pile of hay. He still had his greaves and plate armor on.

"What, war heroes don't get beds around here? You're still stuck in the stables?" Antonio looked at her, blank for a second. He bit down on his lip and turned his face away, hiding it under his mess of black hair.

"I'm not a war hero." Lovina rolled her eyes with a snort and picked at the gravel buried in her palm. What, now he was fishing for compliments?

"You told Francis you killed half a dozen men," she mumbled without looking up from her hand.

"I didn't say anything. Francis said that."

"Well, you didn't correct him." Antonio disregarded her comment and stood up stiffly. His plate grated together as he moved. She hadn't realized how much he'd grown. He was at least a head taller. He paused a few feet away, keeping the bucket between them.

"How'd you get that?" Lovina shrugged.

"Fell off the roof."

"How did you survive this long on your own? Are you trying to get yourself killed?" He reached out for her hand, but she pulled it back quickly. She could feel heat coming to her face. She didn't come here to be chastised.

"I don't need you to follow me around you know. Go off and get yourself killed for all I care. Chop up as many fucking people as you like." She bent over the bucket and began furiously scrubbing at her skinned palm, rubbing harder the more it stung. Antonio kneeled down across from her, resting his elbows on his knees.

"I didn't kill anyone, you know, unless you count the horse that was shot out from under me, but that was my own stupidity." Lovina stopped scrubbing and looked up at him, flicking her fly-away curl out of her face.

"So you lied?"

"No, I just didn't tell the truth."

"That's lying as far as I'm concerned. But, how could you _lie_ to us Antonio?" She could feel the anger flushing her cheeks. She wanted to throw the bucket at him, but it was the only thing between them, and she needed some sort of barrier.

"I'm not lying to _you_."

"And how do I know that? How do I know if anything's the truth? That's what I hate about liars, nothing's real anymore."

Antonio leaned over the barrel and gently grasped her hand. She tried to pull away, but he leaned closer and picked up half of her ripped scarf, dipping it in the bucket. He spread her fingers away from her ragged palm with his thumb and softly dabbed at the bloody scratches there. He spoke without looking up.

"There were arrows everywhere, and people dying, and everything was mud and thrashing limbs and screaming. All I ever did was turn my horse round and round, and slash at the arrows as they fell all around us." He looked up at her questioningly, but he couldn't stop, not now that he'd started. He told her everything as he washed out the mud and the blood from her cuts. He told her about the endless days of riding, about listening to the fantastical stories of the men. He told her, glancing up shyly, about his nights squinting by the shifting firelight, carving out a shard of yellowing bone. He told her about the battle, what he could remember of it, and most importantly, he told her about the pale boy, the red-eyed demon that nobody else knew he'd even seen.

And then he stopped, because there was nothing else he could tell. There were more words there, words about his dreams, about how every night he would look up to the stars and be comforted that they were the same ones back home. There were the words he'd told the pale boy, how he had to return because he'd made a promise, and he couldn't leave her alone. But, as soon as he came to them, they ran away to the edges of his mind, somewhere he couldn't follow. Under her green gaze, he couldn't find them. He dropped the last piece of gravel into the bucket. The water was now a cloudy brown, but her hand was clean. He released his grip and it fell into her lap.

"I just needed you to know, Lovi. I can't be a lie to everyone, because then I'll be a lie to myself." He reached out his hand and wiped gently at the side of her face with the damp scarf. Lovina was horribly conscious of the vegetable peelings stuck in her hair and the egg yolks smeared across her tunic. Antonio brushed the scarf across the scrapes on her cheek. He gave a little laugh, pausing with his fingers brushing against her skin. Lovina sat frozen.

"This is going to sound crazy but I just need you to know the truth, because you're the most real thing I know. You brought me into this reality, and I can't let you see me as a lie." Lovina gasped and pulled back from his touch. Suddenly her breath was coming too fast. "What, am I hurting you? I'm sorry."

"No." She carefully removed his hand from her face, but slipped her fingers between his. They sat in silence for a moment, stealing quick glances when they thought the other wasn't looking. Antonio ran his thumb back and forth over her skinned palm and she shivered.

"Aren't you going to go in there?" He nodded his head towards the house. Even from the stables they could hear the punctuated laughter and low rush of voices.

"No. In there, with all those people, I'd be all alone." She glanced off at the dancing lights from the villa.

"You're the only person I know who can say they're alone in a sea of people. Half the time I have no idea what you're saying." Lovina gave an indignant huff.

"As if you're any better. You just get away with flashing your stupid-ass smile." Antonio's face spread into a grin. He tumbled forwards, wrapping his arms around her waist and sending them both sprawling out on the hay. They overturned the bucket as they fell and were both doused in dirty water.

"What the hell was that for?" Lovina asked as she tried to push him to the side. Antonio spat out a mouthful of hay and beamed up at her. He had one arm under her head and her legs were tangled under his.

"It's been a long time since I heard that sharp tongue of yours. And here I was thinking you'd learned some manners." They both laughed until they were crying, or maybe they laughed to have an excuse to cry.

"Now I'm fucking soaked," Lovina mumbled after she'd caught her breath. She knew she had a stupid grin on her face, but for once she let it stay there. Antonio just watched her, eyes bright, face flushed, hay stuck to the side of her face. She had a wilted lettuce leaf stuck in her hair. It might have been from the laughing, but he found his heart was racing. Her fingers slipped across the hay until they found his. They lay there sprawled out on the hay, letting the distant laughter wash over them.

"Well, I'm home," Antonio murmured. She squeezed his hand, looking out the open stable door at the blanket of stars.

"Yeah, you're home."


	11. Winter Crept Slowly

**Author's Note/Historical Background: **I'm so sorry this has been so long coming, like two months. But, hopefully things should be less busy now. I know. I should stop apologizing and just write more. Anyways, this chapter's kind of a short skip ahead. We have to start picking up speed or things will never get anywhere. So, here's a quick overview of what's been happening with both Antonio and Gilbert. Historically, most of Gilbert's stories are random Germanic myths, common among many countries. I chose Wodan because most people know Odin, and there is a proven correlation between his myths and the Roman god Mercury. Just another way the Romans influenced other cultures that I felt like adding in. As always, reviews and criticism are more than welcome.

11. Winter Crept Slowly

Winter crept upon the villa slowly, and somehow it surprised them when they woke up to find their breaths wisping away from them like the ghosts of the dying year. The trees let their leaves drift to the ground like old men, skeletal arms clutching up at the empty sky in search of covering for their bald pates. Only the kitchen hummed with life as servants scurried about preserving fruit and taking inventory for the cold months. The kitchen was always filled with the crackle of meat turning on spits, wine simmering over the fire, the low rush of contented chatter.

Lovina showed Antonio how to cut back the rose bushes for the frost. They would steal into the kitchen, unnoticed among the bustle, and snatch rolls, burning hot from the oven. They would carry them under their tunics, savoring the heat pressed up against their cold skin, and clamber into the loft of the stables to split their prize. They spent the long winter nights huddled in the hay, wrapping their wool cloaks about them like roosting chicks and sipping hot wine sweetened with honey and laced with spices. As the nights grew colder the space between them grew smaller, until Antonio would doze off with his face pressed into her hair, which smelled of wood smoke and clay and growing things. But always he would wake up in the still air of dawn alone, with her cloak wrapped about his shoulders. Every morning he would look for her among the hay, but he knew she'd slipped her fingers from his and scurried back up to her room over the roof before anyone had time to notice she was gone.

Lovina found herself waiting by the stable almost every morning. She would curl up on the hard ground and listen to him cleaning up the horses' stalls. He would greet each one by name, asking a certain bay how her foot was feeling this morning, or a finicky rowan if he had finally stopped his feud with the neighboring chestnut mare. He would sing as he worked, low and honey thick, without words. Lovina would close her eyes and let the low tide of sound fill up the space between her breaths until she heard the stable door slam behind him and she would scurry off so he wouldn't see her there.

Lovina still bristled at everything he said. He chased her up into the barren vineyards one day to apologize for having laughed at her after she'd dropped a sack of flour on herself and coated herself white. She had stormed off without even grabbing a wool cloak. They twined through the vines, her marching briskly ahead and him trailing behind, half bemused and half exasperated, when the first thick flakes started to flutter towards the ground. By the time he'd caught up to her, the world was already covered in a thin veil of white.

She stood, frozen as the flakes caught in her auburn curls. Her eyes were wide open in shock; her fingers chased the flurries through the air. Snow gathered in her hair and on her pale skin, mixing with the flour still caked across her face and tunic. Her lips and cheeks were bright red with the cold. Heavy flakes clung to her eyelashes as she watched the snow drape across the vineyard. Antonio paused to catch his breath. Her hair billowed about her face as she turned back to look at him, all anger dissipating.

"Is this snow Antonio?" She asked breathlessly, holding out her palms to catch each bright shard. She was white and bright red and a flash of green and, for the first time he realized, beautiful.

"Yeah," Antonio mumbled, captivated as her hands trailed sinuously through the air, swirling the snow about her. "I think it is."

"I can't remember the last time it snowed here," she answered giddily. And then she started to laugh, spinning wildly with her head thrown back. Her curls tumbled from the loose knot on top of her head and flew about her face in the cold breeze. She tripped over to him, catching up his hands and spinning him around until they were both laughing. Their breaths mixed together in the frozen air as they laughed and whooped and kicked up flurries behind them. By the time they came to a halt they were both red-faced and breathless. Lovina clasped her bare arms across her chest, shivering, until Antonio wrapped her up in his cloak. She burrowed her back into his chest and together they walked back to the villa, tripping over each other's legs and giggling, blanketed by the lush quiet of the falling snow.

* * *

><p>As winter hobbled lethargically through the south, it howled and raged through the north. It pounded down snow throughout the mountains, scattering the deer down to the more sheltered valleys and freezing the flocks in their fields. It ripped that year's new babes from their mothers' arms. It brought with it the cold and the darkness, and the chilling fear of living day by day in a land made barren white.<p>

Gilbert and his little bright-faced brother huddled down in their wooden hut, sheltered as much by the drafty boards as by the words of his stories. As the wind screeched outside, and battered at the small fire built in the middle of the hut, Gilbert spoke. He spoke of Wodan, chief among gods. He spoke of giants as fistfuls of snow beat upon the walls, and of the nixies as the wood moaned against the fits of wind. He spoke of the lion boy and the little princess bird when his brother clutched at his tunic, tears freezing to his cheeks. He spoke to quell the rage of the storm. He spoke to reassure himself that his breath still clouded in front of his numb mouth. He spoke to give some beginning and some end to the everlasting white and wind and cold.

But it was when the little boy became feverish that Gilbert spoke the hardest. They wrapped him up in furs until only his fringe of blond hair could be seen. Germania trapped them scrawny hares and a few starving deer. He would be gone for days on end in the woods, searching through the white for herbs buried in feet of snow. Gilbert would mix up broths of grain and gently pull back the furs. He would cup his brother's face in his hands, skin clammy and burning, and cradle the boy's head in his lap as he gently spooned thin broth into his mouth. He could feel the boy's fluttering pulse through his tunic, his gasping breaths. He spoke to keep from crying. He spoke to keep his brother's eyes open, to keep him from drifting into that sleep from which he wouldn't wake. He spoke because there was nothing else to do.

His words became a chant, a ritual, a prayer. Always he returned to the story of the lion and his princess. He would reach into Ludwig's tunic and gently pull out the yellowed shard of bone, rubbing it with the pad of his thumb. Always he would end his story by pressing the charm into his brother's clammy palm and telling him that one day he would find the princess and make her smile. One day he would be great. Ludwig would close his bright blue eyes and drift off with a half-smile on his face, and Gilbert would brush his fingers over the little bone charm for hours on end. It was a gift, a gift of his life, and now it had to give him his brother's.

Germania would return, perhaps with a handful of herbs in a leather pouch, or maybe with nothing more than the banks of snow that billowed in after him. He would wrap another fur about both boys' shoulders, throw another log on the dying fire, and he would wait. There was nothing else to do. He would curse. He cursed the cruel winter, the crushing snows. He cursed his own uselessness. But most of all he looked across the flickering fire at the two boys dozing in the corner, and he hoped.


End file.
